


Shouting at the Summer Sky

by allrounderinsane



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Childbirth, F/F, F/M, Family Separation, Infertility, M/M, Mental Illness, On a Less Serious Note, Organ Donation, Pregnancy, Read this if you want a glimpse into how wacky my original fiction is, Sexual Harrassment, Utopia/Dystopia AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allrounderinsane/pseuds/allrounderinsane
Summary: Jolimont is perfect. So much so, that it is a punishment to all.Life in the Suburbs goes on, with its ups and downs.The people of Cliffs are weakening and withering, suffering at the hands of Warne, who placed these worlds in motion.Whisperers, meanwhile, can pass from place to place.Soon enough, the love and loss that cannot be forgotten will catch up with them all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enpassant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enpassant/gifts).



> Delightfully dedicated to my wonderful co-organiser. Drunk Aunt, it's been an absolute privilege bringing this exchange into existence with you.
> 
> Seeking to fulfil SLFE Prompt #1:  
> (This prompt is purposefully very vague - I want to see what you’d come up with without me giving you any real ideas of what exactly I’m asking for.) A cricket The Good Place AU. I’m banking on at least some of you having watched and loved this show… I hope…   
> I do not care whether you decide to follow the show’s plot with cricketers replacing Eleanor and co. or you just decide to run with the whole Good Place concept somehow, or you put a bunch of cricketers in the Bad Place… or the Middle Place, or you do Virat x Chidi Anagonye (HILARIOUS). 
> 
> Pairing/s and featured players are the writer’s choice. I would enjoy a good cast of players from all international teams, and would particularly get a kick out of any villainous characters NOT being obvious choices (i.e. Not choosing Warner, Vaughan, KP, Stokes, etc. for the bad guy), but neither of these are must-have requests. 
> 
> No squicks, you have free reign (please no tentacles or Marsh x Marsh, though, I suppose, you freaks…)
> 
> To say that I tried and failed to fulfil the prompt would be a dubious statement. I played with the concept a lot as (likely abusing my station as exchange co-organiser) tried to bring to life our discussions about various cricketers and circumstances in utopian/dystopian form.

In Jolimont, railway tracks are glistened by a warm sun, glowing amidst a clear blue sky. Each passenger onboard the morning train has a seat for themselves, with comfortable space not to touch the commuter beside. It arrives at each clean platform at the exact minute forecast, and departs with just the same punctuality. Richmond is the final station on the line, where all passengers disembark, walking in harmony to their day’s tasks. Brendon is amongst them, as tall as heaven and handsome, suit expertly hugging his slender frame because it has been tailored just for him. His dark hair has a slight wave to it, slicked down by the smallest handful of well-concealed gel.

Brendon walks away from the rest of the passengers. His target is invisible to them.  
“David,” Brendon addresses the guard.   
He’s a stocky blonde man whose face is twisted into an expression like he’s about to wrong someone, or he’s been wronged himself.   
“Brendon,” David replies, knowing the Whisperer’s name well. “You’re becoming a regular.”  
“I have my tasks,” Brendon reminds, “and you have yours.”  
Despite his smooth voice, there’s just a hint of toughness. It’s hard for a Whisperer like Brendon to resist. After all, there’s nowhere that they can call home. Fulfilling his task, David touches Brendon’s back, pushing him through into the Suburbs, allowing him to disappear.

+

There’s an expansive window which takes up the right-hand wall of Adam’s office. When the mornings are peacefully slow, he allows himself the indulge of gazing out it. Beyond a pathway hidden under the window, there’s a strip of grass. The gentle breeze buffets it one way or the other, breathing life into the picture perfect setting on the other side of the glass. When Adam sits up a little straighter, he spots a little girl running along, with a balloon in her hand. Her gleeful attention is fixed on it, as it sways through the vast blue sky above. Adam glimpses towards his assistant, Ryan. Usually, he’s buried in a book at his small corner desk, but he’s admiring, too.

After the little girl, a woman is running. Adam can easily tell that she’s her mother. They share the same blonde hair that matches the sunlight. Their eyes, too, are wide and green, inquisitive and marvelling at all that’s around them. There’s plenty, too. Everything is beautiful, after all. Perhaps a little too soon, the little girl and her mother run out of view. Therefore, Adam turns his attention back to the work in front of him, and Ryan raises his open book again, to continue down the page. It’s not long, though, because Adam hears an urgent knock at the closed door of his office.  
“Come in,” he invites.  
The door opens, and Ricky steps inside, making Ryan invisible to Adam.

+

Steve mentally runs through his tasks for before Cameron awakes. He sets about the most important, and urgent – preparing a hearty meal. Hopefully Steve will time that just right, so that it’ll be hot enough when Cameron is ready to eat it. He pours the beans into the pan. Steve stirs them in one round movement with the wooden spoon, then pours in some sauce, to taste. Gripping the handle, he becomes mesmerised by his swirling of the beans. Steve’s other hand is resting on the edge of the bench, gripping it like his life depends on it. Maybe, it does. Satisfied enough, Steve removes the spoon. He rests it on the crockery spoon-rest on the bench, far enough away from the edge that it won’t be knocked off if he’s careless.

Steve leaves the beans to simmer, while he goes to collect a sprig of fresh parsley from the small pots which grow on the window sill. Yet, with the morning sun warming his face through the pane, he hesitates. Steve’s hand is raised, reaching for the plant. Yet, he lowers it, like he’s done nothing at all, deciding to squeeze a tall glass of orange juice for Cameron first. Steve turns back to the stove. He examines the bubbling surface of the breakfast. Steve switches off the element, so that it won’t boil over when he’s outside. Steve scurries out of the kitchen and crosses the tiles, collecting the clippers from where they hang. He opens the back door and steps out onto the concrete, damp from overnight rain.

Steve walks out into bright sunshine, closing the door behind him. He steps up onto the stones which lead through the long grass. Steve knows that he needs to mow, he’ll get that done when Ashton is over to occupy Cameron. He approaches the orange tree, growing in the corner of the backyard. Steve cups his hand around one piece of fruit. Carefully, he plucks it from the tree, then turns around and walks back to the house. Steve dries his feet on the mat outside, even though his shoes are barely damp. He opens the back door again and squeezes back inside, holding the orange he’ll juice out in front of him, protecting it.

Once Steve has closed the door again, he spots Cameron standing by the kitchen table.  
“Good morning, Cameron,” he greets him, with a brief smile. “How did you sleep?”  
Steve doesn’t impose any expectations.  
“Well, thank you, Steve,” Cameron replies. “Yeah, I feel really good.”

Steve grins. He can tell, in fact, when he looks – Cameron’s eyes are brighter than they’ve been. Yet, Steve’s face falls, just as he hides his expression from Cameron, by looking away. He knows what Dr. Haynes has told them – Cameron’s not getting any better, even if there are momentarily glimpses of hope. Steve knows that he has no right to blame Cameron for holding onto them. Yet, he’ll not do the same himself. Therefore, Steve fixes his attention onto the orange. He walks just past Cameron, carefully pulling out a chair at the table.  
“Here, take a seat,” Steve offers. “Your breakfast will be ready.”

He rests his fingertips on Cameron’s shoulder as he helps him onto the seat, then cautiously pushes him in.  
“Thank you, Steve,” he responds, faithfully.  
Steve takes a step back from the chair, then halts. He cannot take credit, because he knows why he’s here.  
“You’re welcome, Cameron,” Steve eventually says.  
It means so much to him, that he knows that he needs to acknowledge it. Steve waits just a beat longer, then heads back into the kitchen. He opens the cupboard beside the rangehood. From it, Steve retrieves a bowl, into which he scoops a nutritious breakfast for Cameron.

+

When they speak, Adam and Ricky both stand. It gives him a chance to stretch his legs, but also to converse almost eye to eye. There are other times, for relaxing, when Ryan really isn’t there in the corner. He’s unlikely listening, though, given that his readings are much more important.   
“The trains were running on time this morning,” Adam conveys.  
“Every morning,” Ricky reminds, “the trains are running on time.”  
Adam gives a nod of agreement, which doesn’t ripple through his body.  
“If they didn’t, then that would be the story,” Ricky points out.  
“They won’t ever, though,” Adam insists, “not run on time.”

“Indeed, they won’t,” Ricky confirms.  
When he glimpses towards the window, Adam considers telling him about the woman and her little girl, but he doesn’t.  
“That’s one thing that you can count on,” Ricky remarks. “The trains will always run on time.”  
“And the sun will always come up,” Adam adds.  
“That will always be beautiful,” Ricky praises, eyes panning around.  
They meet Adam’s, holding each other’s gaze. When they are looking at each other, they don’t need to speak.

Neither Adam nor Ricky notice that the time is passing, so they don’t need to fill the silence.  
“Dinner,” Ricky finally interjects.  
Adam blushes, then clears his throat to try to hide it, blue eyes bulging yet staying on Ricky.  
“It’s Monday,” Ricky recalls. “Tonight is a beef pie with garden salad, given that it’s February.”  
Adam clears his throat again, realising that Ricky’s simply reminding, not asking, him.  
“That’s correct,” he confirms. “You’re well-versed, Mr. Ponting.”  
“All I can do is my best, Mr. Gilchrist,” Ricky replies, with a smile on his lips.

+

Steve ushers Cameron out of the front door. He pulls it shut behind them, making sure he hears the click which confirms that it’s locked. Steve fetches the car key from his bag as he shepherds Cameron a few steps down the driveway to where it is parked. He presses the key into the lock of the passenger door, twisting it to unlock it. Steve pulls the door open. He holds it ajar, hand covering the edge of the car so that Cameron can drop himself onto the seat without fear of bumping his head. Once he is safely inside, Steve gently closes the door and glances up. Surrounded by the harsh sun, he spots Brendon standing at the end of the driveway, dressed in black.

“We’re busy,” Steve tells him. “I have to take Cameron to the hospital for dialysis this morning, I’m sorry.”  
“Dr. Haynes,” Brendon notes, “she’s told you it’s months?”  
Steve clenches his jaw and glimpses Cameron through the window of the car.  
“Yes,” he confirms to Brendon. “Maybe even weeks.”  
Brendon nods his head soberly. Steve walks around the back of the car, halting when he’s in line with the boot in response to the Whisperer’s voice.  
“Christina’s not a match,” he reminds. “I’m not a match, you’re not a match.”

“But his father--,” Brendon speaks up, before trailing off with a hint of a question on his lips.  
“Doesn’t know he’s still alive,” Steve answers, then steps back into the shade.  
He unlocks, then opens, the driver’s door and slips into the car, a little breathless. Steve immediately flicks his eyes over to Cameron, who is slowly fastening his own seatbelt. He raises his stagnant hands to help, but stops when he hears the click. Cameron shifts, so that his back is resting flat against the back of the seat. Steve breathes out. He fastens his own seatbelt, with his eyes closed. Steve’s eyelids only flutter open again when the click of his own sounds. He presses the key into the ignition. Steve starts the engine and switches the car into reverse. He adjusts the rear vision mirror, so that it’s in the right place. Checking it, Steve notices that Brendon is already gone.

+

After his meeting with Adam, Ricky slips out into the hallway and closes the office door. He waits for the soft click behind him, before he scurries towards Alyssa, who is approaching.   
“Ms. Healy,” Ricky greets, stepping into place to walk alongside her. “Good morning.”  
Alyssa offers him a professional smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Ponting,” she echoes.  
They keep walking, around the corner and out of sight of Adam’s closed office door.  
“How are you travelling?” Ricky asks, his voice lowered.  
“I’m walking,” Alyssa answers, deadpan, “with my feet, with you next to me, in a forwards direction.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ricky interjects, quietly.  
Alyssa glares at him for a second, like she’s surprised he hasn’t noticed that she knew all along.  
“I’m sorry,” Ricky apologises. “I won’t lie, I have been speaking to your Uncle Ian.”  
Alyssa bobs her head, looking a little perturbed.

“How’s Mitchell?” Ricky presses.  
Alyssa adopts a stern expression.  
“As well as he can be,” she supplies.  
Alyssa turns to face Ricky, halting in the hallway.

“I may as well change my name,” she laments. “While I’m Alyssa Healy, I’m Ian’s niece, and if I’m Alyssa Starc, I’m Mitchell’s wife. I ought to just go without a last name. Jean’s my middle name, I could go by Alyssa Jean.”  
“Billie?” Ricky reminds, cocking one eyebrow.  
Alyssa sighs, which breaks into a smile as she keeps walking, and he trails beside.  
“Have you had any luck, with your trying?” Ricky presses, albeit keeping his tone hushed.  
“No,” Alyssa rejects. “We haven’t.”  
She quickens her pace to walk away.

+

Cameron is sitting in the large chair. Treatment administered by Dr. Haynes, he’s receiving dialysis, but which can only keep him going for so long. Steve is seated beside him, hunched over and offering his hand. It’s up to Cameron, whether or not he takes it. Some days he does, on others he’s feeling too strong for it. Steve knows that’s what he wants. Still, sometimes he likes it, when Cameron realises that he needs him.  
“I’ll be back at the end of your treatment session,” Dr. Haynes farewells.  
Steve bobs his head once.

“Thank you, Dr. Haynes,” he speaks, on Cameron’s behalf.  
“You’re welcome, but it’s my job,” she insists modestly, then pivots.  
Dr. Haynes begins to walk away, before she halts and turns back to address Steve and Cameron again.  
“Your father’s here,” she mentions, as Father Hayden steps into view.  
He’s wearing his clerical collar, but is otherwise dressed casually in jeans. A man of the cloth never clocks off, but these aren’t business hours. Cameron narrows his eyes as he studies Dr. Haynes.  
“How did you know?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Dr. Haynes moves back closer to her patient.  
“He’s a priest, he’s Father Hayden, he’s your Father,” she explains.  
Dr. Haynes pauses.  
“But I know that he’s your father, too,” she adds.

“He’s the man who raised me,” Cameron elaborates. “Still, he’s not my biological father.”  
“I know that too,” Dr. Haynes divulges.  
She glimpses towards the tall man, now standing just out of earshot.  
“That would come in handy,” Dr. Haynes admits.

They share a sombre moment of silence. Then, Dr. Haynes turns away, departing so that Father Hayden can approach.  
“Haydos,” Cameron greets, beaming at him. “I wish that I could give you a hug.”  
“You and me both, son,” Father Hayden confirms.  
He pulls up a chair and sits down on the other side of Cameron to Steve.  
“Hello, Steve,” Father Hayden adds.  
He offers a smile.  
“Good morning, Father Hayden,” Steve replies.

+

Back in his own office, Ricky allows his mind to wander. He remembers the time when there were more children around. It was the old regime, and Ricky recalls carrying a young boy on his shoulders, telling him stories around the campfire. There are no campfires anymore, because each person has their own house where they stay, and nobody feels cold. Ricky emits a soft sigh. Everything is so much better now, or at least for those who don’t know any better. That’s for a reason, so that people like Adam never have to suffer at the hands of somebody who is tainted. Ricky wouldn’t want Adam to come to harm, anyway, so that’s something that he’s willing to accept. Sometimes it doesn’t ring true, that Ian wouldn’t intervene. Yet, Ricky knows that’s not his place. Besides, he can’t speak to Warne himself, without the assistance of a Whisperer. Ricky reaches across his desk, his clawed hand hovering over his office phone, to make the call to fetch one. Brendon’s busy, but Melanie might have nothing better to do. Yet, he stops. Ricky doesn’t want to blame Warne, and doesn’t know for sure that he can fix Alyssa and Mitchell’s problem, anyway.

+

Mitch walks along the beach, bare toes sinking into the soupy sand. He stares out over the vast expanse of ocean, as the waves wash in and cover his feet with frothy water. Mitch continues to amble, then quickens his pace when he spots an obstacle on the sand. As the tide recedes, its frame becomes clearer. Something resembling a man is slumped over, lying down with the waves deserted his body, naked except for black and white striped swimming trunks, soaked to translucence like a second skin. Mitch drops to a squat, placing his arms around the man, running his eyes down his blue and scarred skin. A heaviness overcomes him.

Most likely, this man’s been claimed by the ocean. It’s being rather impolite, to then spit him back up. Mitch falls into a sit. With despair, he strokes his hand over the man’s dark hair. It’s when Mitch’s fingers reach his neck that he feels a dull throb from the other side of his skin. His own pulse quickens, as he places his hand under the man’s nose. Mitch feels slow breaths, testifying that the man is still alive. He allows himself a brief grin, then grimaces as he tucks one arm under his chest and the other under his knees. Mitch hauls himself to his feet. He staggers back across the beach, carrying the man to the safety of his brother’s house. Mitch kicks the back door ajar.

He pads inside, walking over to the bed. Gently, Mitch places the man down, then takes a step back. Eyes still closed, he watches his chest rising and falling. Mitch rests against the door frame, hands folded behind his back. He ought to find this man grotesque, that he’s been swept out of place. Yet, he’s alive, and that’s what Mitch is celebrating, perhaps because he know that he’s lucky. Mitch is lucky, too, that he’s a Seasider. He’s fortunate that, back in past days, his mother was rescued by his father. By that same token, Mitch sees it as his duty to have rescued the young man that he’s now brought into his brother’s home.

+

With her office door closed, Brendon sits opposite Christina in Jolimont. Neither of the sandwiches in front of them have been touched.  
“Weeks,” Christina echoes, the word that Brendon hasn’t wanted to utter, despite hearing it from Steve.  
She shakes her head sadly, trying not to look at him.  
“My boy’s only got weeks,” Christina reflects.  
Brendon relaxes a little in his chair, in an attempt to offer comfort to her.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that you considered him to be your boy,” he admits.

“Well,” Christina responds.  
She clears her throat quickly, like she’s trying to rid herself of her slip of the tongue.  
“He’s not my boy, really,” Christina corrects. “I couldn’t even help him.”  
There’s despair on her face, that perhaps only Brendon can see.

“Cameron’s Justin and Matthew’s boy,” Christina reminds herself. “He’s Matthew’s boy, he raised him.”  
A slight shudder ripples through her, in recognition of the uneasy truth.  
“It’s Justin who I wanted to speak with you about, actually,” Brendon notes.  
Christina’s eyes pan around to him, finally.  
“It is likely that Justin would be a tissue match,” Brendon points out. “In fact, it’s highly, highly likely. It’s almost certain, given that you’re not, unfortunately.”  
Christina shakes her head.

“We couldn’t,” she insists, looking down.  
Eyes widening with horror, Christina glances up at Brendon.  
“We have to,” she implores. “Otherwise, Cameron will die.”  
“Sadly,” Brendon confirms.

Christina curls her fingers around the armrests of her chair.  
“I will speak with Justin,” she vows. “I’ll tell him, what’s happened and what he must do.”  
Christina pushes herself into a standing position.  
“If you’ll excuse me,” she murmurs, before walking towards the door.  
“Christina,” Brendon interjects.  
Looking over his shoulder, he stops her standing in the doorway.  
“Be careful.”

+

At lunchtime, Joe is already holding out a steaming mug of black coffee for Usman to gratefully accept when he arrives in the staffroom.  
“Thank you,” he utters, before taking the first sip. “My goodness, I need this.”  
“After recess duty, I knew,” Joe responds.  
“It’s only twenty minutes,” Usman reminds. “I don’t know how they can get up to that much mischief in such a short time."  
Joe cocks one eyebrow, lowering his own coffee from his lips.  
“You don’t have personal experience of that?” he quips.

Usman chuckles.  
“Alright,” he concedes. “You might have me there. But still.”  
Usman shakes his head.  
“For me, it was just mischief,” he insists. “Davey was the naughty one.”

Usman’s said it before he realises. Joe’s expression becomes immediately stern. Usman can tell, even despite his bushy beard, grown for his class’ unit of work about the gold rush.   
“Yes, well,” Joe eventually replies, keeping his voice low, “things run their course.”  
He doesn’t know what he means, and Usman doesn’t either. It’s hard to talk about David these days.

+

Once Brendon has departed her office, and the door is closed again, Christina closes her eyes. She waits a beat, then opens them again. Christina’s welling up and reaches for a tissue proactively, knowing that she’s likely to cry. Cameron’s not her boy – he’s nobody’s, probably, because he’s a man. Yet, she’s not immune to tragedy, even in Jolimont. Christina knows just how much Matthew and Justin loved their little boy. She remembers him taking his first steps, and that’s when she starts to cry. Christina can’t hold back her sobbing, so that’s when she rises to her feet, even though she’s a little unsteady.

She can’t stop herself any longer, she needs to speak with Justin. Christina, feebly, takes a deep breath. She walks around her desk, opening the door and departing her office. Christina scurries up the stairs, then swings herself around, approaching Justin’s door. She still knocks professionally.   
“Come in,” Justin invites, just as Christina opens the door.  
His eyes widen at the sight of her, face puffy and damp tissue in hand. Justin leans forward.  
“It’s Cameron,” Christina announces, before she’s even inside.   
Justin clenches his jaw, but it nonetheless starts to tremble. He remembers, for the first time in a long time – both his son, and Matthew.

“Justin, Cameron’s in a bad way,” Christina explains, as she rushes into the office and sits down. “I’m sorry. It must be a shock. It’s his kidneys.”  
“Cliffs?” Justin queries.  
“No, he’s in the suburbs,” Christina responds. “There’s hope, if he can receive a transplant soon.”  
She sadly shakes her head.  
“I’m not a match, Justin,” Christina divulges.  
“So that leaves me.”

+

That night, once Cameron is asleep and Steve is trying to tidy up the house, he hears a polite knock at the front door. Resting the feather-duster against the chair, he scampers across the tiles, heart thudding a little faster as he takes off the catch and opens the door.  
“Father Hayden,” Steve greets the tall man standing on the porch.  
He’s no longer wearing his clerical collar, although his top button is still fastened.  
“I’m sorry,” Steve apologises. “Cameron’s already asleep. His days at the hospital take it out of him.”  
Father Hayden bobs his head with understanding.  
“I’m glad that he’s getting back rest, in that case,” he comments.

Steve lingers, continuing to hold onto the door.  
“If you’re not busy,” Father Hayden suggests, “I would like to speak to you.”  
Steve pulls the door back first and gestures towards the interior of the house.  
“Come in,” he invites. “You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Father Hayden replies.  
He steps inside the house, before Steve closes the door behind him again.  
“Would you like something to eat or drink?” he offers. “Cameron and I have had our dinner, but I wouldn’t want you going hungry or thirsty.”  
Father Hayden smiles.  
“Cameron’s told me that you make him orange juice,” he reveals.  
“Would you like some?” Steve asks.  
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Father Hayden answers.

+

Baz isn’t a stranger to working into the night. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, other than the cold loneliness of his dwelling. Sometimes, Baz will fetch a Whisperer to occupy him with conversation and anecdotes from the world beyond Jolimont. Yet, he quickly learns that they are off on assignments, or at least the ones he likes are. Heavily pregnant Laura has gone home to her husband, Guppy, in the Suburbs; Smithy is fruitlessly trying to take supplies over to Cliffs; Melanie is checking the guards for compliance along the border with the countryside, which will no doubt take a while; and Jarrod is simply logged as being otherwise engaged, not that his task is specified.

Given what Baz knows about him, he’s aware that he won’t be in a hurry to divulge what he’s doing, even if it’s mundane. Therefore, he finds himself with other paperwork for company, which is unsatisfying. Leaving on his lamp to promise that he is returning, Baz departs his office to go for a wander, to see what’s left to find in Jolimont. He doesn’t suspect that there’s much, because he’s tried this before. Long ago, Ricky has filled Baz in on all that there is to find. He rounds a corner, then reaches a door, which leads to a staircase that descends into shadows. Baz pauses, his heartrate rising, before he decides to throw away his inhibitions and walk down into the room below.

There are small windows in the walls, opening out onto foliage. Baz tries to calculate where he is, from the outside. He’s at the base of the building, built into a slope so that even this cellar is not underground. That’s an important principle of Jolimont, that even its secrets are hiding in plain sight. Baz pads over to a fridge and opens the door. He crouches over, eyes widening, when he spots that there’s bottle of alcohol inside. Baz isn’t tempted to take any, because he gave away drinking along long ago and, as far as he’s away, there’s no-one else who hasn’t retired for the night yet that he would be willing to share with. Therefore, he closes the fridge door again, with a smile on his lips.

+

Several hours have passed. Father Hayden has only been sipping slowly at his glass of orange juice, but it’s nearly empty. He’s sitting with Steve in the living room.   
“I haven’t ever asked you about what you used to do, Steve,” Father Hayden points out.  
Steve raises his eyebrows and lifts his chin a little, expecting a question.  
“Tell me more about yourself, Steve,” Father Hayden invites.  
“Well, I’m not sure that there’s much to tell,” Steve responds.  
He’s instinctively defensive. Yet, Steve knows that he has no right to keep secrets from anyone, particularly not Father Hayden.

“Did you grow up around here?” he begins probing, even though he’s speaking casually.  
“Actually, no, I didn’t,” Steve answers. “I grew up . . .”  
He emits a soft sigh, feeling Father Hayden’s eyes upon him. Steve knows he needs to answer truthfully, even though he’s not sure that the answer’s one Father Hayden will like.  
“Jolimont’s where I grew up,” he divulges.  
Steve looks at Father Hayden, but is surprised that he doesn’t appear to be reacting.  
“And then you came to the Suburbs,” he presumes.  
“No,” Steve corrects. “I worked in Jolimont. My, um, my fiancée lives there, still.”

Father Hayden goes silent, nodding his head slowly. Steve wipes his nose with the back of his hand.  
“Even Cameron doesn’t know that, actually,” he confesses.  
“How did you cross the border?” Father Hayden wants to know.  
Steve shakes his head.

“There was an accident,” he divulges, “but I was spared, by a guard.”  
Steve has to resist a shudder, talking about his past.  
“There’s no magic bullet, I’m afraid,” he admits. “I shouldn’t be here, I should be dead, probably. They probably think that I am dead, back in Jolimont.”  
Father Hayden audibly breathes out.  
“Has Cameron ever spoken to you about his biological father?” he asks.  
“No, not really,” Steve supplies.  
“Cameron’s biological father lives in Jolimont, too,” Father Hayden reveals.

Steve finds himself gasping, then meeting the eyes of Father Hayden, who nods his head in confirmation.  
“My husband Justin,” he recalls. “We got our wires crossed, ended up asking to live in opposite places. Once we realised, we couldn’t change it, and I ended up in the Suburbs with Cameron, without Justin.”  
Father Hayden runs his tongue over his teeth.  
“Because he’s in Jolimont,” he notes, “that’s why it’s difficult to see if he can donate to Cameron.”

+

“We’ve been married two years,” Alyssa reminds Alex.  
She’s relaxed in the visitor’s seat in Alex’s office, while Alex rearranges books on the shelf behind her desk. It’s a task that she can complete while listening, which is something that Alyssa needs right now.  
“And have you been trying that whole time?” Alex wants to know.  
It’s the sort of personal question which she wouldn’t ask anyone else. Yet, Alex and Alyssa are close enough that it’s the kind of information she needs to know.  
“We haven’t been not trying, to put it that way,” Alyssa answers.

She laughs darkly, glancing towards the window.  
“I can’t tell if I can’t get pregnant because I can’t get pregnant or he can’t get me pregnant,” Alyssa admits, “or if I can’t get pregnant because we can only spent any sort of time together when Lisa can smuggle Mitch away.”  
She glances back towards Alex, flexing her fingers.  
“Sorry,” Alyssa apologises. “I shouldn’t be burdening you with this. Kids aren’t exactly an easy topic for you, either.”  
Alex turns around and rests her back against the books on the shelves.

“At least I know why I’m not pregnant,” she points out.  
“Does that make it easier?” Alyssa wants to know.  
It’s Alex’s turn, this time, to glance out the window in thought.  
“I don’t know,” she divulges, “but don’t feel like you can’t feel sorry for yourself on my account.”

+

Usman and Joe are sitting at a kid’s desk, knees bent up under the tables while they mark spelling tests opposite each other.  
“Your student teacher,” Usman speaks up.  
“Matthew Renshaw?” Joe checks.  
“Yeah, the tall guy,” Usman confirms. “How are you finding him?”  
“He’s excellent,” Joe praises. “Matt’s great with the kids and he’s willing to work hard. It would be great if he could get a class here once he finishes his degree.”  
“Yeah, he seems like a nice kid,” Usman agrees.

He lets out a laugh.  
“I can’t believe that we’re the ones talking about the prac students being ‘nice kids’ now,” Usman remarks.  
Joe chuckles as he reaches for his stamp, to offer praise through green ink at the bottom of the list of spelling words, written with careful lead pencil.  
“Yeah,” he affirms. “We’re not the young ones anymore.”  
They fall silent again, concentrating on their work which fills what is supposed to be their lunch break.  
“The sports shed is all organised.”

Usman and Joe glance up, to spot their prac student, Matt, in the doorway.  
“Ah, your ears must be burning,” Joe remarks. “We were just talking about you.”  
Matt adopts an expression of slight concern.  
“All good, though,” Usman reassures.

“Thanks,” Matt replies, beaming again.  
Joe pulls his eyebrows together.  
“Who told you to sort out the sports shed?” he wants to know.  
This time, Matt crinkles his own brow.  
“Ah, Mr. Bevan mentioned, not to me, that it needs sorting, so I thought that I would,” he explains. “The kids loved it, looking at everything that we’ve got. If I happen to be given a PE lesson, I’d love to use some of the equipment we unearthed.”  
Joe and Usman share a smile.

Matt may be a kid himself, compared to them, but his initiative is impressive.  
“That would be fantastic, Matt,” Joe accepts. “I’ll have to give you a PE lesson with my class.”  
“Thank you, I would really appreciate that,” Matt responds.  
Usman pulls out the chair beside him from under the desk.

“Have you got a minute, Matt?” he queries. “Come and sit with us. You’ll be good company while we mark.”  
“Thank you, there’s nothing else for me to do unless you’ve got a job for me,” Matt replies.  
He ambles into the classroom and sits down next to Usman, glancing across the desk.  
“I can do the stamping, if you’d like,” Matt offers.

+

Mitch is sitting by the bed of the young man that he has rescued from the beach. It’s been four days, and he’s down nothing more than twitch. Mitch wonders if he’s having nightmares. From what he’s heard from his mother, it can’t be worse than what he’s left.   
“Come on,” Mitch murmurs under his breath. “Wake up. Even if you’re just proving Shaun wrong.”  
He laughs to himself, yet keeps it low. Mitch’s expression stagnates with awe, though, when he notices the young man’s lips curving. He looks like he’s smiling. Then, the young man’s eyes flutter open. They’re blue, that’s something that Mitch has been wondering at times over the course of his desperate bedside vigil.

He’s dreamy, he’s the most beautiful man that Mitch has ever seen.   
“Where am I?” the young man asks, and his voice is hoarse.  
It must be from the cigarette smoke, which fills Cliffs. Mitch reaches forward, places his hand on top of the young man’s.  
“You’re safe,” he promises. “You’re in the suburbs, near the sea.”  
The young man’s eyes, rimmed with darkness, widen. It only then occurs to Mitch that perhaps he doesn’t know that there’s an outside world. If he weren’t a Seasider, after all, he’d be none the wiser, either.

“Where were you before?” Mitch asks.  
The young man tries to speak, but instead he coughs, sounding like a bark.  
“Don’t worry about it,” Mitch reassures. “Rest up, we’ll try and get your throat better soon.”  
“Pat,” the young man wheezes.

Mitch narrows his eyes with confusion.  
“Oh,” he finally gulps. “That’s your name. Your name is Pat.”  
He nods his head, in confirmation. Still, Pat’s face twists with pain.  
“It’s alright,” Mitch reassures. “Rest up. I’ll take care of you.”

+

When he’s being briefed by Laura, the Whisperer he’s put to duty, Baz allows her to sit in the chair opposite him, to allow her feet to rest.  
“Do you have any other questions?” she asks.  
Baz shakes his head.  
“Not unless you have anything else to tell me,” he responds.  
Laura upturns her lips.  
“I think it’s all been said,” she confirms.  
Baz nods.

He briefly flicks his eyes down to Laura’s bulging belly.  
“How many weeks to go?” Baz queries.  
“Three,” Laura replies.  
They’ve known each other from long ago, and Baz has been a rare person in Jolimont to admit to Laura’s pregnancy.

“But,” she admits, with the hint of a grimace, “I’ve been starting to feel contractions.”  
“Laura,” Baz warns, “not that I’m telling you what to do.”  
“And you’re not,” Laura interjects.  
“Just be careful,” Baz advises. “Don’t give birth in Jolimont.”

“Thank you, Baz,” Laura replies.  
She rises to her feet.  
“I’ll finish my assignments, then I’ll head back to Guppy and hopefully everything will go smoothly,” Laura outlines.  
“You know that I would love to meet that baby,” Baz assures, “but you just have to be careful, because you can’t be sure, it is likely that the baby would be able to cross the border.”  
“Technically,” Laura reminds, “the baby’s been crossing the border for close to thirty-five weeks.”  
Baz nods, paying the point.

“That’s true,” he agrees.  
Laura flashes a satisfied grin, then turns towards the door. When she reaches it, she yelps lowly, leaning into the corner between the doorframe and the bookcase, pressing her forehead against her forearm, gripping her belly.  
“Laura,” Baz speaks up, standing.  
“I think that I might have to head to the suburbs now,” Laura confesses.   
As Baz rushes over, she grunts.  
“I think that my waters are breaking,” Laura admits, then reaches out to grasp the door handle.  
She pulls it open. Baz reaches Laura, placing his arm around her shoulders as he guides her out into the hallway.

+

Given that it’s Friday afternoon, Alyssa doesn’t walk through the corridors of Jolimont with any great haste. She knows the tasks that she needs to complete before the end of the week and, if they’re done too soon, more work will be found for her to do. As a result, Alyssa’s trying to drag it out, put one foot in front of the other as slowly as she can. When she turns the corner, therefore, she almost collides with Lisa.  
“Lisa,” Alyssa speaks up, “what’s the matter?”  
“You need to come with me, Alyssa,” Lisa begs, taking Alyssa’s hand and marching her off in the opposite direction.

“What’s the matter?” Alyssa echoes.  
Finally, Lisa draws closer, even though she doesn’t pause.   
“Mitchell is being brought to the guardhouse,” she whispers. “You will be able to have the weekend together, until Monday morning.”  
Alyssa gasps, eyes sparkling, then clenches her jaw and almost runs alongside Lisa. She’s still carrying folders, folders she can’t bring with her. Lisa glimpses towards them, sharing the same concerns as Alyssa.  
“The next person we see,” she instructs, “we’ll hand them over.”

Alyssa nods with agreement, even though she knows that the plan isn’t foolproof. Those wandering the hallways, though, should be safe enough. It’s around the next corner that they find Sam. Alyssa rushes over.  
“For Ricky,” she offers as she hands over the folders.  
In response to Sam’s bewildered expression, Alyssa’s compelled to pause.  
“Um, Mr. Ponting,” she explains, then flees with Lisa.  
Once they clatter down the stairs, she grins.  
“Slow down, Alyssa,” Lisa remarks. “You’re the one who is following me, remember?”

“I know,” Alyssa insists, “but I know the way, too.”  
Lisa scoffs.  
“I would like to see you try,” she quips.  
“Fine,” Alyssa concedes, jovially rolling her eyes.

She slows down just enough. That allows Lisa to take a couple of steps ahead, as they escape from the Jolimont building.  
“Towards Cliffs,” she declares, under her breath.  
Alyssa laughs, like she’s a teenager again, and wagging school with her mates.  
“Towards Cliffs,” she echoes, then her face falls.  
Cliffs is not a place that Alyssa ever wants to visit. She might not want to make that confession, though. Alyssa is acutely aware that Mitchell doesn’t have a choice in the matter, and that’s partially her fault, on the basis of the people she has to call her family.

+

Successfully, Laura manages to get as far as the outside of the building, near the door to the library.  
“I don’t know how much further I can walk,” she mutters.  
“I’d offer to carry you,” Baz admits, “but I can’t cross the border.”  
Laura nods her head hastily.

“I’m a Whisperer,” she reminds, her tone sharp. “I do know that.”  
Baz gives a firm nod.  
“You’re a Whisperer,” he affirms. “Of course you know that.”  
It’s then that Baz’s eyes pan around, to the library doors.  
“Can you get to the library?” he asks her.

Laura guffaws.  
“Thanks, Baz,” she remarks. “I really needed a laugh right now.”  
Laura winces through another contraction.  
“They have trolleys at the library,” Baz points out. “Another Whisperer can push you across the border into the suburbs.”  
“You know,” Laura admits, even though her expression still looks bemused, “that’s not a terrible idea.”  
Slowly, they step over to the library. Thankfully, the doors are open and Tim, the librarian, is behind the front counter.

“Tim,” Baz addresses him.  
“Afternoon, Baz.” Tim glances up from the book in front of him.  
His eyes bulge at the sight of Baz and Laura. Baz is already reaching towards a library trolley, thankfully emptied of books.  
“May we?” he requests.  
“Yes,” Tim permits.   
“Thank you,” Baz responds, helping Laura onto the trolley.  
“And Laura,” Tim adds. “Congratulations. It’s the best thing that you’ll ever do.”

“Thank you,” Laura replies, wincing. “It doesn’t feel like it right now.”  
Baz wheels her out of the library. He pans his eyes around, searching for a Whisperer, hopefully one without other duties to attend to.  
“Smithy,” Baz calls out, spotting the rotund man approaching them. “Fancy delivery duty?”  
“Don’t worry, he doesn’t actually mean that,” Laura reassures, noting the accidental pun.  
“That I can do,” Smithy accepts, taking the handles of the library trolley from Baz.  
“Godspeed, Laura,” Baz farewells.  
She waves back, as Smithy wheels her away, towards the border to the suburbs.

Baz ambles after them for as long as he can, before they disappear from his view, in Jolimont. It’s then when David notices Smithy, with Laura, approaching. He tries not to look shocked, tapping them both quickly on the shoulder so that they can pass through.  
“Congratulations,” David wishes. “It’s the best thing you’ll ever do.”  
“Thank you,” Laura responds, breathless. “I’ve heard that before.”

+

Alyssa’s hand is linked with Lisa’s as they round the corner. They step up onto the landing, while Lisa reaches into her pocket. From it, she fetches the key, pressing it into the lock and twisting it with precision. As the door pops ajar, Lisa makes sure that the key is safety stowed back in her pocket, before she touches her fingertips to the door. She pushes it open, with an eerie creak with prompts Alyssa’s heart to thud faster.  
“Let me go first,” Lisa murmurs.  
She’s glancing down, a little over her shoulder. Lisa checks that Alyssa nods, before stepping up into the room.

She walks about a foot inside, before she’s joined. Neither of them close the door behind them, after Lisa and Alyssa move free of it. They peer around the door, Alyssa looking over Lisa’s profile. Her features light up, upon spotting a tall man dressed in casual clothes, barefoot. Mitchell. Alyssa gushes his name quietly, their eyes widening as they meet. Lisa lets go, and steps back behind the door, so that Alyssa can rush towards her husband. He pulls her into his arms, breathing her scent, and she wouldn’t blame him if he never let her go.

+

Ricky finds himself working on a Saturday, because there’s nothing else that he can fill his day with. Besides, he works out after a couple of hours that he appreciates the silence. It’s not that Ricky doesn’t like the people he shares Jolimont with. He holds them dear, but it’s hard to concentrate when clouded by emotions, and people make Ricky feel. Like a weekday, he keeps the door of his office closed, so those four walls create a bubble for him. Blinds open, Ricky can watch the outside world out of the corner of his eye. There’s nothing to look at, though, so that doesn’t provide a distraction. Upon hearing a knock at his door, Ricky is startled.  
“Come in,” he finally invites, after clenching his jaw.

Ricky eventually raises his chin a little and offers a smile, as the door opens. A woman with long dark hair steps inside. Ricky recognises her as Melanie, a Whisperer.  
“Melanie,” he greets. “What have I done for a visit from a Whisperer on a Saturday?”  
“That’s why I’m here,” Melanie admits. “It’s a Saturday. Why are you here?”  
Ricky shrugs his shoulders as if she knows the answer already. Melanie bobs her head and her eyes trail down, because she does.

+

Alyssa’s not sure how much time has passed, when she’s lying with her cheek resting on Mitchell’s bare chest. She doesn’t mind at all, in fact, she thinks that that’s a sign of true happiness – when time stops mattering. Alyssa’s aware, though, that she and Mitchell only have borrowed minutes. No matter how much they love each other, they will always be restricted by their opposite worlds. Mitchell starts threading his fingers through Alyssa’s blonde hair. She props up her face, his muscles resisting against her chin. There’s a satisfied look on Mitchell’s face, which prompts Alyssa to grin. This is all she needs, herself and her husband, with a warm bed to snuggle in. Rain is gently falling outside, something which she hasn’t heard in a long time.

Alyssa knows that she shouldn’t take delight in it, given that the water is the reason for the scarring which plagues Mitchell’s legs. In the meantime, though, during their fleeting time together, she wants to appreciate all that she can. Mitchell blinks, then shakes his head.  
“You’re amazing,” he gushes. “I love you so much.”  
Tears well in Mitchell’s eyes.  
“I love you too,” Alyssa promises. “Don’t cry.”  
Her urging seems to prompts the tears to spill, onto Mitchell’s cheeks.  
“Hold onto me,” Alyssa suggests, “and don’t let go.”  
She rests the side of her face against his skin once again, reaching across his belly for his other hand. Alyssa threads her fingers with Mitchell’s, her arm draped across him. He tightens her grip on her. Alyssa feels safe, snuggled into Mitchell’s side. She doesn’t need to move, so she doesn’t think about how she’ll have to, too soon. Alyssa strokes her toes over the sheet that is draped over their naked bodies. When she closes her eyes, she doesn’t fall asleep, even though she’s as comfortable as she’ll ever be.

+

Ricky is sitting opposite Adam in his office on Monday morning, even though there is not much for either of them to report.  
“What will you be working on today, Adam?” Ricky wants to know.  
“I will be reviewing each position in Jolimont,” Adam answers.  
Ricky raises his eyebrows, sitting up a little straighter.  
“And?” he checks.  
“I’ll try to make sure that I remember everything,” Adam insists.  
“So no-one is losing their position?” Ricky makes sure.

Adam shakes his head in confirmation, so Ricky breathes out audibly with relief.  
“No, no-one is losing their position,” Adam promises.   
He draws his eyebrows a little closer together, shifting in his seat slightly.  
“May I ask, Ricky,” Adam queries, “why would you think that?”

“I was just wondering,” Ricky admits, “why you would be reviewing positions otherwise.”  
“Because,” Adam justifies, “I don’t think that I could remember who everyone is.”  
Ricky scoffs.  
“I reckon that you could,” he insists.  
“Thank you,” Adam replies.  
“I’ll test you,” Ricky declares. “Claire Koski.”  
“Michael Hussey’s assistant,” Adam supplies, prompting a grin from Ricky.

+

Alyssa spies tears in Mitchell’s eyes when they are informed, by a little sheepish Lisa in the doorway, that their time together is over. She steps back and closes the door again, so that they have privacy, to dress themselves again and say goodbye. Alyssa inches up the pillows, pulling the top of the sheet with her for warmth and modesty, as Mitchell flips his side back. She watches his tall form as it emerges from the bed. A smile comes onto Alyssa’s lips. She likes what she sees, of course. Alyssa’s face only falters when she spots the twisted skin that crept further up Mitchell’s legs. His feet seem more withered than last time they were together. Alyssa doesn’t want to stay it, but Mitchell is only getting worse in Cliffs.

She will still love him, even if he wastes away, she’s certain of that. Thank goodness Mitchell’s tall, he’s got a lot that he can lose. Still, it doesn’t stop Alyssa from worrying about him, that he’s most likely going to lose his feet soon. If Mitchell cannot work for Warne, that will only make things harder. Alyssa shudders, not liking to think about that. She pulls her eyes away from Mitchell and emerges from bed. Alyssa faces towards the wall, retrieving the clothes which she arrived in, strewn across the bedroom floor. She allows herself a slight grin, as discarding each item flashes back into her mind, not long after they first arrived.

Alyssa is lost in the past, so she’s a little startled when Mitchell approaches from behind her, draping his arms around her. Smiling, she takes his hands in hers. Alyssa spots the dark mark that encircles the ring finger on his left hand. Her eyebrows draw closer together, as she cranes her neck to look at Mitchell.  
“I did that,” he promises. “Don’t worry about it.”  
Mitchell brushes kisses over Alyssa’s hair, making his request easier to follow.  
“I can’t wear my wedding ring with Warne around, you know that,” he reminds, “so I made sure that I marked my fingers, so it looks like it.”

Mitchell wraps Alyssa up, cuddling her back against his bare chest.  
“Be careful with that,” she warns, shuddering again.  
Alyssa knows that Mitchell feels her body quaking, and he goes a little cold as a result.  
“You never know what Warne would do,” she reminds.

Mitchell doesn’t reply with words. He’s aware that he knows better than Alyssa. Mitchell doesn’t tell her that, though, because he doesn’t want to hurt her. Their time left together is fleeting, and he doesn’t know when – if ever – he will be able to see Alyssa again. Therefore, Mitchell speaks with his hands, holding her frame close to hers. Alyssa turns around in his arms. She hooks her wrists around Mitchell’s neck.   
“Lisa is waiting for us,” Alyssa reminds.  
Mitchell kisses her.  
“I know that,” he insists.

Mitchell breathes in, as he hunches over his back, so that he can press his forehead against Alyssa’s. Her eyes are too close for him to focus on them. Mitchell doesn’t care, though, because that’s the least of his worries.   
“One last time,” he murmurs.  
“I’ll see you again,” Alyssa promises, before Mitchell’s lips are on hers once again.  
She’s tempted, to forget about Lisa. Alyssa’s hands move down Mitchell’s back as her feet inch up his legs, her arches pressing against his scars. She bends her knees, curling herself around Mitchell’s waist, hugging his torso.

As he carries her back over to the bed, Alyssa appreciates the strength that she’s knows that he’s losing. Mitchell may never do this again, so she savours the chance to be carried in his arms. When he places Alyssa down amongst the warm sheets, she doesn’t let go. She doesn’t want to. Alyssa’s clinging to Mitchell, looking into his brown eyes and trying not to cry. She must be strong, on his behalf. After all, Alyssa knows what they’re both returning to. In Jolimont, she is free. In Cliffs, Mitchell is not. He is Warne’s prisoner, and he is not safe. Again, Alyssa shudders at the thought, quaking within Mitchell’s embrace. He cuddles her tighter, rolling over so that they can lie side by side.

They kiss, and Alyssa makes sure to remember what it feels like, to be loved. She cannot be certain that she’s going to be able to experience it again. Alyssa’s lost in love when they hear another knock at the door, Lisa again.  
“I love you,” Mitchell promises.  
He kisses her forehead.  
“I love you too,” Alyssa echoes.  
They emerge quickly from bed. Alyssa and Mitchell dress themselves again with their backs to each other. Then, they turn around, facing the reality of their imminent separation. 

+

Hunched over a little at his desk, Baz sets about completing the work that he would have on Friday afternoon, were it not for Laura’s unexpected labour. The thought of her is niggling away at his mind, hoping and praying that all went well, that Laura and the baby are healthy and adjusting to their new realities. Attachment to Whisperers is ill-advised, given they come and go. That’s the nature of their job, after all, but Baz knew Guppy and Laura before she was a Whisperer, and they knew him before he lived and worked in Jolimont, his days filled with paperwork in order to organise nothing in particular. Even though Baz has drifted away from his work, the knock at the door startles him.

He gives himself a beat to recover his composure.  
“Come in,” Baz finally calls out, to permit whomever is on the other side of the door to enter.  
He watches, as the door swings ajar. Stupidly, Baz almost expects Laura to step inside, to provide a perky update from the world beyond Jolimont. She doesn’t, of course, but it’s Smithy who’s there, prompting Baz to sit up a little straighter in his chair.  
“Smithy,” he greets him, “I haven’t summoned a Whisperer.”  
“I know,” Smithy reminds.

“If I was going to, though,” Baz allows, “in light of recent circumstances, I would have selected you.”  
“Well, thank you,” Smithy replies, before closing the door behind him. “It’s recent circumstances, as you’ve put it, that I’d like to discuss with you.”  
“Laura?” Baz checks.  
“Yes,” Smith confirms. “She’s had the baby, a daughter, Harley Louise.”  
“Both healthy?” Baz wants to know.  
“Yes,” Smithy confirms.  
He waits a beat, then heads for the door.

“Smithy,” Baz calls out, to stop him.  
Once he pauses, Smithy looks at Baz side-on.  
“Thank you for letting me know,” he utters.  
“It’s my duty, Baz,” Smithy insists.

He departs, but Baz keeps his eyes on the door. Pleased by the news from the Suburbs, he smiles, taking a while to return to work. Baz’s tasks are voluminous but never substantial, this time reviewing the menus for the upcoming month of March. He would hardly tinker with them, even though he could recommend just the right beverage to pair with each meal. Alcohol is still hard to come by in Jolimont, something Baz would lament if he was afforded the opportunity. Instead, he signs off on a Monday breakfast of porridge, and toast for Tuesday, yet frowns at scrambled eggs of a Wednesday morning. Baz sits up straighter, wishing that he could be afforded an assistant in his office, like Adam. Hopefully he can ask for one at some stage, because it’s not like there’s a shortage of employees roaming Jolimont’s hallways. In that confidence, Baz rises to his feet and opens the door, waiting for someone to pass by. He needs to check the inventory records, but he’s a little concerned that he’s not going to like what he finds. Slowly, Baz walks back to his desk.

+

With vegetable scraps from lunch, Zamps forays out towards the pens, blonde locks held back by a headband. As soon as he unlocks the gate and slips himself inside the fenced-off area, his gumboots sink into the mud, a constant feature of the landscape around the back of the farmhouse. The pigs saunter over to greet Zamps. While he smiles at them, before closing the gate behind him, he’s aware that he’s not the main attraction. It’s the food that he brings that they’re after, as well as the security that it provides, that they are being looked after. Had Zamps and the others not been willing to protect them, such confidence would not have been afforded to the pigs, or any of the other animals.

“You’re eating just like us,” he tells them as he carefully pours out their food.  
It’s not a falsehood, given that the pigs’ meal was prepared with the same ingredients. Zamps wishes that they could feed their animals better, but resources are limited, especially until Pete and Morne return from their expedition. This time, it hasn’t been his turn to make the trip beyond the countryside. Zamps knows another world, but he’s aware that he’s much better off in the countryside, living in the farmhouse. Sure, he’s lucky that he could, but the choice had been his own. The thought of it brings a grin to Zamps’ lips.

Carefully, he reaches behind him for the metal railing at the top of the fence and holds onto it. Using the fence for support, Zamps relaxes. He watches the pigs lap up their food from the ground until it’s all gone. They eat with desperation, like it’s going to be their last meal. For all Zamps knows, it could be – because Pete and Morne should have returned three days ago. He lets out a heavy sigh, not wanting to think about it. Zamps is aware that the world is cruel, and brutality magnified in the world beyond the countryside, the world not yet enlightened. He shudders when he considers it, and chooses not to. That’s a luxury that Zamps is not long afforded. Soon enough, the pigs are pointing their snouts up at him.

Holding the now-empty bucket in his other hand, Zamps holds up his palm to show them.  
“There’s no more,” he insists. “I’m sorry that there’s no more. We wish that we could feel you more.”  
An ache blooms through his abdomen.  
“We wish that there was more food altogether,” Zamps admits.  
He speaks quietly, only for the pigs’ ears, like he’s not supposed to be making that confession. Zamps would never harbour regrets, nor his beliefs be challenged. Yet, ethics don’t prevent hunger, no matter how much he might like that to be true.

“Zampa,” a male voice calls out behind him, made gruffer by hardship and worry.  
Zamps turns around quickly, then lets himself out of the pen pen. As he walks away from it, he notices Dizzy approaching. He’s been grey for a while, but the events of the past week, Zamps fears, could cause his hair to fall out completely. It flashes across his mind that they would be tempted to eat it, and whether or not that would be an affront to their veganism. A smirk has rippled across Zamps’ expression, to keep himself sane, before he can stop it. Dizzy scoffs, and he knows he’s been caught.  
“What are you smiling at?” he demands of Zamps.

“I just,” he stammers, not knowing what to say.  
Finally, Zamps sighs.  
“Just a joke with myself,” he explains. “We’ve got to keep our spirits up.”  
Usually, Zamps would have expected Dizzy to enquire further. Instead, he only sighs, and Zamps realises again just how bad this has gotten, so quickly.  
“Have you seen Roz in your travels?” Dizzy enquires.  
“Yes,” Zamps confirms. “She’s gone down to the pond with Arias.”


	2. Chapter 2

Baz holds up the photo in front of his face, an image of Laura cradling her baby daughter, with Guppy’s arm around her. He smiles.  
“Very nice,” Baz praises. “Didn’t inherit the red hair.”  
He smirks, as Laura snatches back the photograph.  
“And she would be beautiful regardless,” she insists, then tucks it back into her briefcase.  
“Of course,” Baz agrees, then sits up straighter.  
He smiles when he notices Laura retrieving documents in its place.  
“I wouldn’t have expected you to have been working,” Baz allows.

“Well, I haven’t,” Laura confirms, “but that’s what’s interesting.”  
She sets the files down on her side of his desk. Yet, Laura doesn’t look at them, instead looking Baz straight in the eye.  
“I haven’t been crossing the border,” she reveals. “I’ve stayed in the suburbs since Harley was born.”  
Laura waits a minute for that news to sink in. Then, she cocks an eyebrow, urging Baz to react.  
“That could be possible,” he permits.  
“It is possible,” Laura insists. “I’m here, I can travel. I’m not dead, even if it does sometimes feel like it with a newborn baby.”

Baz chuckles.  
“I would believe you,” he divulges, “that the borders have no real power.”  
“Would you be willing to test it?” Laura challenges, eyebrow still raised.  
“That’s another question,” Baz backpedals. 

Laura’s eyes remain locked onto him.  
“But I don’t see why not,” Baz agrees, as his heart starts to beat faster. “What have I got to lose?”  
“Don’t take this personally,” Laura begins.  
“I won’t,” Baz insists.

“There is a lot more to gain,” Laura outlines, “if we can offer proof.”  
Baz nods his head once, in hearty agreement.  
“Would you be the one to speak with Ponting about it?” Laura requests.  
Baz laughs.

“Come on, Baz,” Laura implores. “You didn’t burn your bridges with him, I know that much. It doesn’t have to be before, but talk to him.”  
“I will,” Baz vows. “I’m sorry.”  
Laura bobs her head, like she’s satisfied with the apology.  
“Good,” she remarks. “Anything else needed before we can test this out?”  
Baz purses his lips, wondering what he’s afraid of. He doesn’t know, so he figures that, as he’s said before, that’s good enough reason to go ahead.  
“No,” Baz answers.

+

Brendon clenches his fingers into a fist as he approaches the door of Justin’s office. He doesn’t want to deliver the news, but he knows that he has to, because it’s true, and time is also of the essence. Therefore, Brendon knocks professionally, staying strong for the sake of Justin, Cameron and Christina.  
“Come in,” Justin urges, his voice measured on the other side.  
When Brendon opens the door, its hinges creak a little. He keeps his eyes on the wood, until it’s closed again behind him. Justin’s sitting behind his desk, lips pursed with expectation.   
“There’s a problem,” Brendon reveals.

Justin sighs, with defeat.  
“We cannot remove the kidney from you in Jolimont,” Brendon explains. “There are not adequate medical facilities, nor doctors.”  
Justin nods his head slowly, like he should have seen this coming. Finally, he sighs again. This gives Brendon permission to do the same. It actually feels relieving, to be allowed to succumb to the helplessness he feels.  
“Is there anyone else in the suburbs?” Brendon suggests.  
Justin shakes his head, looking away.

+

It’s late at night, in the offices of Jolimont. Ricky is sitting back in his chair with the lamp on, legs loosely crossed over. He knows that he probably ought to just head home. Yet, there’s still work for Ricky to complete, and he doesn’t want to feel lonely. Thus, he breathes in and shifts himself around. Ricky faces his desk again, and is about to get started once more when he hears a knock at the door.   
“Come in,” he invites, lifting his chin hopefully.  
Ricky doesn’t know who else would be around at this hour. The door opens, and it’s Baz who enters. While Ricky’s surprised, he smiles.

At the sight of the bottle in Baz’s hand, his grin widens and he relaxes in his chair.  
“Care for a glass?” he offers.  
“Mate,” Ricky replies, pressing the heel of his hand against his closed right eye, “would I ever say no?”  
“I didn’t think so,” Baz admits, as he takes up the chair opposite Ricky and places down two glasses in front of him on the edge of the desk. “Still, I wanted to check.”  
Ricky is spellbound by the whisky as Baz pours it into drinks for both of them.   
“I think that we can trust ourselves,” he insists, then pans up to witness Baz grinning in confirmation.

“That we can,” he agrees, before handing one glass over to Ricky. “To Jolimont.”  
They touch their glasses against each other’s.   
“To Jolimont,” he echoes, then takes his first sip.  
Ricky trusts himself, but he trusts Brendon, as well. A Friday night drink has been their undoing in the past. Yet, as Ricky tastes the liquor on his lips, he hopes that, this time, it will find him a solution.  
“What’s on your mind?” Baz queries. “You look troubled.”  
“It’s Justin,” Ricky admits. “More specifically, Justin’s son.”


	3. Chapter 3

While Cameron watches Steve mow the lawn through the window, Ashton’s eyes stay on Cameron. With his fingerprint, he gently rubs circles at the base of his thumb.  
“Cameron,” Ashton finally speaks up, attracting the attention of his boyfriend. “I’ve got something that I’d like to ask you. I know that, um--.”  
He threads their fingers, linking them.  
“This might be a little sudden, and you don’t have to say yes,” Ashton permits.  
Cameron draws his eyebrows closer together.  
“Are you?” he questions. “Ashton, are you trying to propose to me?”

Anxiously, Ashton laughs.  
“Yes,” he confirms. “Cameron, will you marry--?”  
“Yes,” Cameron interjects, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.  
Ashton chuckles.

“I haven’t finished asking yet,” he points out.  
“Alright,” Cameron permits. “Ask me again.”  
Ashton smiles as he squeezes Cameron’s hand.  
“Cameron, will you marry me?” he proposes.

“Yes,” Cameron confirms, “yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”  
Tears well in Ashton’s eyes. He shifts his chair closer, so that he doesn’t have to move, in order to kiss Cameron passionately. As they embrace, Steve enters from the front yard. Cameron catches his eye. He’s not sure exactly how much he knows. Regardless, even though Steve is grinning, Cameron notices the bittersweet expression that quickly flashes across his face.

+

Baz is tense as he waits in his office, yet startles when he hears a knock at the door.  
“Come in,” he yells, after taking a breath to retain his composure.  
Laura steps inside.  
“Hello, Laura,” Baz greets her.

“What’s wrong?” Laura asks.  
“What?” Baz questions.  
“Something’s wrong,” Laura insists.  
“How do you know?” Baz wants to know.

“I can tell,” Laura insists.  
She closes the door.  
“I need to ask you something,” Baz admits.  
“What is it?” Laura questions, standing up straighter.  
“We need to make it known that people who aren’t Whisperers can cross the borders,” Baz admits.  
“Tell someone,” Laura permits.

+

Everyone is watching – waiting, expecting and hoping. It’s an uncharacteristically cold day on the Jolimont side of the border, even though the sun is still shining, as always. Melanie is the Whisperer who has been selected – Ricky’s choice, given that she’s the best in the business, the bravest and the most intelligent. The party approaches Gayle’s border crossing into the Suburbs. Baz and Laura are not amongst them, just in case they’re magical, or tainted. They will learn the results, one way or the other, at a later time. Melanie approaches until Gayle just comes into her view. She checks, that Chris is still over her shoulder.

“Can you see him?” Melanie asks.  
“Yes,” Chris confirms.  
Melanie gives a nod of her head.  
“May I hold your hand?” she requests, feeling a little embarrassed. “I’ve heard it helps.”

“Whatever it takes,” Chris vows.  
He extends his hand, for Melanie to take. She presses forward, pulling Chris after her. Melanie isn’t sure if Gayle will be able to see him, or not. She steels her expression before she approaches. Gayle greets Melanie just he always does, there’s a smile on his lips. He’s looking straight at her, like he couldn’t see Chris even if he tried. Melanie’s heartrate quickens. All she has to do is cross the border, and Chris will follow. Melanie just wishes that she didn’t require Gayle’s assent first. He slows her down, keeps her waiting, hand on her shoulder like he’s about to let her pass. Shadows loom over Melanie front and back. She can sense Chris rising on the balls of his feet, anger bubbling. Melanie doesn’t want him to lash out, to blow their cover. She doesn’t need protecting, nor Gayle’s permission. He’s touching her, after all, and her hand is linked with Chris’. Thus, Melanie bursts through into the suburbs as soon as she can. She runs until she’s something close to free, then turns to Chris. He’s with her in the suburbs, but he’s not smiling. Neither is Melanie.

+

Ricky makes sure that Adam is, firstly, preoccupied with work in his office and, secondly, that he says there. He cannot find out about what has transpired, even though Ricky knows that his own loyalties are not pure. After entering Adam’s office without knocking first, he closes the door again behind him.  
“Ricky,” Adam addresses, “is everything alright?”  
It’s a challenging question, without a clear answer. Yet, Ricky finds himself bobbing his head hastily before he realises that he’s probably telling a lie. Adam flashes a brief grin in response and, once Ricky has witnessed that Adam is reassured, he doesn’t correct himself.

“I’m glad that you’re here, to be honest, Ricky,” Adam confesses.  
Ricky gulps, before tilting his head back a little.  
“Take a seat, please, Ricky,” Adam requests. “I would like to speak with you.”  
While Ricky’s heartrate rises, he does as he’s told, then hides his hands.

“You’re working with Alyssa Healy, is that correct?” Adam asks.  
“Yes,” Ricky confirms, sitting up a little straighter, “and doesn’t it worry you, slightly, that women seem to be merely assistants?”  
The events of that morning are running through his mind, now that they’ve unsettled him.  
“Of course,” Adam vows. “That was what I wanted to speak with you about, in fact. Look, Ricky.”  
He shifts forward a little in his seat.  
“I was not responsible for our current staffing arrangements,” Adam reminds.  
“I’m well aware,” Ricky affirms.

Adam bobs his head.  
“Now, however, I am in charge of staffing,” he continues, “and I wanted to know if you could do without Ms. Healy’s services, if she were to be given her own position, independent of you.”  
Ricky grins.

“That’s well overdue, Adam,” he responds. “I would be delighted if that became the case.”  
Adam nods.  
“Good,” he praises. “I’m pleased. I thought that you would like to hear that.”  
“Then why are you still asking me?” Ricky wants to know, leaning back in his seat.

“Because,” Adam carefully answers, “I care about your opinion.”  
“Even if you don’t like what you hear?” Ricky levels.  
He knows that he might have to make a confession soon. Adam picks up a pen from his desk, then looks Ricky in the eye.  
“So far,” he reminds, “we’ve been on the same page.”  
Ricky’s a little taken aback, yet tries to hide it from Adam. He’s had practice with this. Therefore, Ricky pauses a beat, then smiles.  
“Yes,” he confirms, “but--.”

Ricky hesitates. Adam slightly narrows his eyes.  
“But what?” he checks.  
It’s perhaps too forward for Adam’s usual demeanour, which catches Ricky by surprise.  
“I was going to say,” he confesses, “that I’d tell you if I thought you were wrong. But, I don’t think that that’s going to happen.”

+

The Whisperers line up, outside Kat’s office door. Melanie. Melinda. Neroli. Whisperers, and Women, recognising each other without speech. They stand side by side, defiant expressions on their faces. When Kat arrives, not one woman steps forward first, but all three. They don’t hold hands, but they are together – united, in the most bitter relief. Kat invites them in and doesn’t close the door again behind them. The three Whisperers only separate from standing shoulder to shoulder when they pass through the doorway. It’s too narrow, so they are compelled to follow one after the other. Melanie stands in the centre, on the opposite side of Kat’s neat desk.

He doesn’t sit, and neither do they. Neroli stands to Melanie’s right, Melinda to her left.  
“Tell me everything,” Kat pleads, ready to listen.  
He can tell from the expressions scarred onto the three Whisperers’ faces that the time for excuses is finished. Neroli begins, as the Whisperer Kat has known the longest. She goes right back, to the beginning of her assignments to the suburbs. Melinda speaks the same, her voice thick with the tears which are welling in her eyes. Neroli offers her a tissue. She accepts it with thanks, but does not use it to dab her eyes, at least not just yet. Melinda must not leave anything unrevealed, and she does not. The three Whisperers are weighed down. Trapped by memories, Melanie retells. Yet, once she is done, Melinda and Neroli grip her hands, reassuring each other that they will be able to one day float, from the darkness into the light.

+

Steve watches the rain streaking down the window panes in the laundry, while he occupies the afternoon with carefully folding freshly-ironed pillowcases. While Cameron is sleeping, there’s not much else that he can do, especially seeing as he’s already cleaned up after lunch, but it’s still too early to think about dinner. Briefly, Steve finds himself entranced by the drops. He tries to imagine what it would be like to be a raindrop, forcibly destroyed by a single touch. Of course, raindrops only change their form, they don’t disappear completely. Yet, when a raindrop becomes a puddle, has it lost too much of itself, to still be considered a raindrop at all?

Steve doesn’t know the answer, nor he can see the puddles. He just imagines them, forming on the concrete down the side, in between the wall of the house and the fence that separates them from their neighbours. Steve doesn’t know the inhabitants of the house next door. Sure, he knows of them, but he’s aware that that’s not the same thing. Nor should it be, Steve would have once believed, but he’s been immersed in the bubble created by Cameron’s ill-health, that he hasn’t had time for socialising. He doesn’t really want it, regardless, because he doesn’t need anything more than Cameron. Steve halts, caught by his own thoughts, while holding a pillowcase.

He feels like he does, and he grimaces at the thought, because he’s come to believe that he doesn’t deserve more than Cameron. Maybe, Steve’s not even worthy of him, but at other times, he feels like he has to keep telling himself that, so that he doesn’t view himself as angelic. While he made the decision to care for Cameron, he doesn’t think that he had a choice. With a sigh quieter than the rain, Steve finally finishes folding the pillowcase. He pivots on his toes to add it to the top of the pile resting on the washing machine. It’s then when Steve halts, hearing footsteps coming down the hallway. He steps out of the laundry, to greet Cameron.  
“It’s raining,” Cameron observes.

“Yes,” Steve confirms. “It is.”  
“I want to go outside,” Cameron announces.  
“Cameron,” Steve speaks up.  
Yet, Cameron’s convinced, as he walks straight past him. Steve exhales audibly, yet chooses to follow him out the door, to allow the raindrops to overtake them both.

+

Once Melanie and Melinda have departed, only Neroli remains. She sits down in Kat’s office, in the chair opposite his behind his desk. He says nothing, examining Neroli’s expression with stern eyes of his own. She shifts her hands, so that they rest on the edge of Kat’s desk.  
“You’re still shaking,” he observes. “Are you sure you’re alright?”  
“Not really,” Neroli admits, with a slight, stoic smile, “but what can you do?”  
She blinks, to give herself time to think.  
“When he did it,” Neroli confesses, “some part of me was glad.”  
Kat grimaces.

“I was glad, because everyone was going to see, everyone saw,” Neroli points out.  
She meets Kat’s gaze.  
“It’s not hidden anymore,” Neroli notes.  
“Indeed, it’s not,” Kat confirms, with a professional nod of his head. “I give you my word, Gayle will be removed from his position. You’ll never have to see him again, Neroli, he’ll never lie a hand on you again.”

Neroli shakes her head, causing Kat to draw his eyebrows together with bemusement.  
“You can’t guarantee that,” she reminds.  
“I’ll try,” Kat insists, before lowering his voice, “for you, for Melanie and Melinda, for all of the female Whisperers.”  
“I know you will,” Neroli permits.  
She sits back in the seat, pulling her hands back off the edge of the desk.  
“But you can’t promise that you’ll get him stood down,” Neroli tells Kat. “You might, but he’ll be back, somehow.”  
“We’ll do whatever we have to,” Kat insists.  
He halts, realising Neroli’s stubbornness.

+

Blinds open, door closed. That’s how Ricky lets light into, and keeps others out of, his office during the day. Yet, at night, it’s flipped, so that he doesn’t have to look at his own reflection in the darkness, or feel so alone. Ricky doesn’t mind having his door open in the evenings. It’s the most vulnerable time, after all, so he doesn’t want to close himself off to the outside world. Besides, on this particular night, Ricky wants himself to be available. Some part of him craves that Melanie will come to him, so that he can apologise. Ricky knows that he can’t simply go to her, as that would be compromising, potentially too upsetting. Besides, he doesn’t know where Melanie is, whereas he’s able to anchor himself.

Georgia slips into the doorway of his office, with a professional knock.  
“Mr. Ponting,” she speaks up. “Your dinner.”  
“Thank you,” Ricky replies sincerely, looking Georgia in the eye.  
She pauses, like she hasn’t been expecting his kindness.

Ricky sits up straighter, jolted upright by panic. Howie, the Whisperer, once told him that people loved him more than they feared him, but maybe Howie’s words were always going to unravel as a lie.  
“You’re most welcome, Mr. Ponting,” Georgia responds.  
She places down the plate on his desk, then turns around. Ricky keeps looking at her, but he’s not sure whether he should.  
“Ms. Redmayne,” he finally speaks up, biting the bullet, when Georgia’s standing in the open doorway.

She pivots, to face Ricky.  
“We appreciate it, that you work late,” he insists.  
Georgia smiles, looking a little embarrassed by the unexpected praise.  
“If you encounter any trouble, let us know,” Ricky advises.

“I will, Mr. Ponting,” Georgia promises.  
She takes a step closer to his desk.  
“If you’d like to know,” Georgia confesses, “those lady Whisperers, they are very brave, but the guard had it coming, from what I’ve heard in good confidence.”  
Ricky nods his head solemnly, before Georgia departs his office again. He glances towards the closed blinds, picking up his treasured pen from his desk without looking at it. Ricky moves it into his view. He turns it over in his fingers a few times, Georgia’s words running through his mind. Ricky’s not a Whisperer, he doesn’t have experience with guards, but he knows Whisperers – he has to.

He knows that the world around him couldn’t function without them. Ricky knows where guards come from, but it still pains him, that Whisperers face risks. From his conversation with Georgia, though, he’s starting to realise that it’s not being a Whisperer that comes with challenges, but a woman. Ricky’s pen falls from his fingers, his other hand shooting out to stop it from breaking on the desk. He notices his food and thinks that he probably should eat, to honour Georgia’s errand. Ricky pulls the dish closer. He observes, though, that it’s absent from a sprinkling of pepper, which he prefers. Ricky doesn’t blame Georgia for that, of course, because she would be none the wiser.

Pepper isn’t a common commodity in Jolimont, so he has to rely on where he knows there’s a shaker. Ricky rises and makes his way out of his office. He closes his door behind him, so that nobody else can enter when he is absent. Ricky saunters down the hall. At its end, he steps into the alcove. Ricky reaches out and opens the door to the pantry. He steps inside, out of the light and into the darkness. When Ricky flicks on the light, he is startled. So is Melanie, sitting on the tiled floor.  
“Hi,” she greets Ricky.  
He breathes out with a sigh which Melanie counters with an exhausted smile.

Ricky closes the door behind him and leans against it, his hands folded over and pinned by his lower back.  
“I’m sorry, Mel,” he apologises wholeheartedly.  
She shakes her head.  
“Not your fault,” Melanie insists.  
There’s an uncharacteristic hint of bitterness in her voice. Melanie finally glances up, to meet Ricky’s eye.  
“Thanks, Rick,” she testifies. “I feel like you get it.”

“I don’t,” Ricky counters. “I don’t know what it’s like to have to work twice as hard to only be considered half as good.”  
“You’ve always worked twice as hard and been twice as good,” Mel observes.  
A touch of modest pink creeps into Ricky’s cheeks.  
“Thanks,” he responds.  
Melanie grins for a moment. Ricky doesn’t know what to say.  
“You shouldn’t have to put up with that,” he insists, “simply because we don’t, as blokes.”  
Ricky shifts his feet a little.

“I know, right?” Melanie quips, then laughs, darkly.  
Ricky sighs.  
“I guess I’m just really sorry,” he apologises again. “And, please, you shouldn’t have to do this, but, please, tell us whenever we’re wrong. We always ought to back you.”  
“Thanks, Rick,” Melanie replies.  
She sighs heavily and stands up.  
“Come on,” Melanie urges. “I’m sure that you came to the pantry for something.”  
Ricky nods.  
“Pepper,” he admits. “For my dinner.”  
Melanie chuckles.  
“It’s funny the things that we want that we can’t admit to,” she remarks. 

+

Brendon appears in the doorway of Christina’s office, just as she is about to rush out. She pauses, locking eyes with him.  
“Brendon,” Christina addresses him.  
He leans against the doorframe.  
“I take it that you’ve heard,” Brendon presumes.  
“Indeed, I have,” Christina confirms. “I was just on my way now, I want to offer my support to Melanie.”  
Brendon offers a smile.

“That’s kind of you,” he compliments.  
Christina pauses, then grins modestly.  
“It’s the least I can do,” she admits.  
“If you’ll trust me, Christina,” Brendon speaks up, “you do so much for the women of Jolimont.”

She blushes a little, embarrassed by his praise.  
“We stick together,” Christina explains. “I guess, like Whisperers stick together.”  
It’s something of a question, levelled at Brendon.  
“We try to, absolutely,” he affirms, bobbing his head.

They fall silent again, both aware of why Brendon has come to Christina’s office.  
“There’s proof,” she blurts out. “I mean, this is the worst way to find it.”  
Brendon draws his eyebrows closer together.  
“Christina,” he enquires, “what has been proved?”

“The border can be crossed by those who aren’t Whisperers,” Christina explains.  
Brendon pauses a beat, then nods again.  
“Yes, that was proved,” he confirms.  
“That means that Justin can cross the border, for his surgery,” Christina reminds.

“That’s true,” Brendon agrees.  
They both stand their ground, not sure who will move first.  
“We should go and tell him,” Christina decides.  
“Of course,” Brendon promises.

He stands in the doorway for just a moment longer, then steps out of her way.  
“I suppose I don’t have as much relevance now,” Brendon points out.  
They begin to walk along the darkened corridors, side by side.  
“That’s yet to be proven,” Christina recalls. “That could have been proven--.”

“But we have Mr. Gayle to blame for that,” Brendon notes.  
Christina clenches her jaw as she nods her head.  
“We have Mr. Gayle to blame for a lot of things,” she insists. “Yet, it would be unfair to Mr. Gayle if we pretended that he was the only guard to take his duties too seriously.”  
“That’s, um,” Brendon replies, a little flabbergasted by Christina’s choice of language, “that’s a kind way of putting it.”  
The two of them pause, outside Justin’s closed office door.  
“I do try to be kind, Brendon,” Christina promises.

“Christina, I don’t doubt that,” Brendon vows.  
They look into each other’s eyes and Christina raises her hand. Yet, she pauses, rather than resting it on Brendon’s shoulder. Noticing, he sways forward, welcoming her touch. Christina settles her hand against Brendon’s lapel and smiles nervously.  
“You will never be irrelevant to me,” she promises.  
Brendon grins back, before the door opens. As Justin is standing there, Christina and Brendon spring back.  
“So I’ve heard that the border can be crossed,” Justin admits.

“That,” Christina agrees, “would appear to be the case.”  
“I’ll leave as soon as I can,” Justin vows.  
When he looks at Christina, she nods, then he pans his eyes to Brendon.  
“I will accompany you across the border,” he offers.

“Thank you, Brendon,” Justin accepts. “I would appreciate that, even if it is possible for me to cross on my own. Now, I suppose, we’ll be one gate down, until they find a new guard.”  
“That’s if we still need guards at all,” Brendon reminds.  
He pans his eyes around to Christina.  
“So much is changing,” Brendon points out, “and hopefully that will be for the better, for all of us.”  
“Especially for Cameron,” Justin insists and Christina nods in agreement, before beaming towards him.  
Her expression is a coping mechanism, just as much as it is genuine.

+

Ricky has finished his dinner, the pepper making the meal bearable. He discards his empty plate into the corner of his desk and tries to resume work, feeling like he can’t go home just yet. Ricky leans back in his seat and emits a heavy sigh, shaking his head. He would love a glass of something stronger to deal with it, but he knows that it won’t make it any better. A knock on the doorframe, though, quickly draws Ricky out of his craving. He turns his eyes, to notice that Howie is standing there.  
“Come in, Howie,” Ricky invites, leaning forward in concern at the Whisperer’s grave expression.  
Howie steps into Ricky’s office, but doesn’t sit down, even though the guest’s chair is empty.

“Ricky,” he admits, “I knew.”  
While Ricky draws his eyebrows closer together, he’s only confused for a moment.  
“I knew that Gayle was bad news with the women,” Howie confesses.  
Ricky stays silent, not knowing what to say.

“I,” Howie reveals, “I tried to keep the women Whisperers away, rather than Gayle.”  
Ricky nods his head slowly.  
“Howie,” he responds, “why are you telling me this?”  
“I feel guilty,” Howie admits, “because I know that I was wrong.”

“Yeah,” Ricky agrees. “We all have room for improvement.”  
Bemusement flashes across Howie’s face at the offer of solidarity.  
“Would you like to make amends?” Ricky suggests.  
“Anything,” Howie vows.  
“Two things,” Ricky outlines. “Firstly, write down what you know, it’ll help. Secondly, I have an assignment for you – to assist Mr. Simon Katich in his representation to Mr. Michael Clarke with staffing.” 

+

Kat is sitting opposite Pup, a representative from the Suburbs, responsible for staffing. He recognises him, from long ago, before Jolimont, but he doesn’t point this out. Kat’s focus is singular – to deal with the problem of Gayle and have comforting news to report. He flips over his leather ring-bound folder, filled with his printed ammunition, if Pup wants proof.  
“Simon Katich, Jolimont,” he introduces himself, with a professional handshake across the table.  
“Michael Clarke, Suburbs,” comes the reply.  
Their hands retreat, ending the formalities.  
“It’s a question of staffing, isn’t it?” Pup checks, perhaps just to prompt Kat to speak.

“Correct,” Kat confirms. “Specifically, a guard named Chris Gayle.”  
He flicks through his documents. Kat retrieves a copy of Gayle’s image, then presents it towards Pup. Narrowing his eyes, he takes it closer. Kat thinks that Pup’s just studying the photograph for optics. He’s likely seen him before and knows what he looks like, regardless.  
“We have reports from three female Whisperers,” Kat continues.  
Pup glances up at him.  
“Alleging unprofessional treatment from Mr. Gayle,” Kat explains.  
He has copies of the statements from Melanie, Neroli and Melinda in front of him.

Kat tries not to look at the printed words.  
“I have heard about Mr. Gayle’s reputation,” Pup divulges. “He will be dealt with appropriately.”  
“I hope that I’m not speaking out of turn, Mr. Clarke,” Kat counters. “The role of the guard isn’t as significant as it once was, but this is a serious matter.”  
“You have my word, Mr. Katich,” Pup promises.  
Kat’s not going to challenge him again, like Neroli did to him.  
“Please have confidence that I understand the seriousness of this matter,” Pup requests.  
He and Kat both sit up a little straighter, in response to one another.

“Is there anything else?” Pup asks.  
“No,” Kat replies.  
Pup waits a beat, then stands.  
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Katich,” he farewells.

Pup walks away from the table. He slips out of the meeting room without a last look. Thus, Kat is left alone, with Gayle’s image still on the desk, facing towards where Pup had been sitting. He picks it up, looking at the wide grin that he wears. However, Kat doesn’t give himself too much time to ponder, before stashing it amongst his other documents. He gazes around the meeting room with a soft sigh, before flipping closed his folder. Slowly, Kat rises to his feet and steps away from the table, then carefully tucks back in his chair. There’s nothing more that he can do, yet still he feels uneasy, like he hasn’t done enough to help.

+

Ashton arrives in the doorway of Cameron’s hospital room, wearing a suit with a bowtie. He brings a smile to Cameron’s lips.  
“You look so handsome,” he manages to say. “I can’t wait to be married to you.”  
Ashton grins back.  
“I can’t wait to be married to you either,” he affirms.  
Ashton walks into the room. He takes up the chair to the left of Cameron’s bed, taking his hand.  
“I would love to kiss you right now,” Ashton admits, “but we’ll have to wait until the end of the ceremony.”

Cameron swallows.  
“I can manage that,” he promises. “Father, and Steve and Dr. Haynes, will they be here soon?”  
Ashton doesn’t have time to answer, before they hear urgent footsteps. Father Hayden bursts through the doorway and into Cameron’s hospital room, holding a Bible. Steve and Dr. Haynes follow after him, wearing excited smiles. As the witnesses to the ceremony, they stand to the right of Cameron’s bed. Father Hayden, at the foot, opens the Bible, which also contains his notes for the wedding ceremony he will conduct. He scans his eyes down them, to make sure that there is nothing that is slipping his mind.

This is Father Hayden’s only son’s wedding day, after all.  
“The wedding rings,” he remembers.  
Cautiously, Steve retrieves two gold bands from his pocket. They are kept safe by a small transparent bag, which he places atop the chest of drawers. Father Hayden beams. Cameron and Ashton gaze at one another.  
“We’re ready,” Father Hayden confirms, before the ceremony begins.  
It passes quickly, even though Cameron, and Ashton, are trying to savour every moment.  
“I, Cameron, take you Ashton, to be my lawfully wedded husband,” he vows. “I promise to love and cherish you, as long as we both shall live.”

“I, Ashton, take you Cameron, to be my lawfully wedding husband,” he promises. “As long as we both shall live, I promise to love and cherish you.”  
They exchange rings, carefully sliding cool gold onto each other’s fingers.  
“With this ring,” Ashton pledges, “I wed you. With all that I have and all that I am, I honour you.”  
“I accept this ring,” Cameron replies. “May we grow in love together.”  
Tears are welling in his eyes, as well as Ashton’s.  
“With this ring,” Cameron promises.  
He manages to sit up just a little, so that he can reach Ashton’s finger without discomfort. They cling to each other’s hands, not wanting to let go.  
“I now pronounce you husband and husband,” Father Hayden declares. “You may kiss your groom.”  
Placing their arms around each other, Cameron and Ashton kiss. They press their foreheads together. Steve and Dr. Haynes applaud, with tears welling in their eyes.

+

Piers’ chair is large and, to Pup’s surprise, located in the centre of the mostly-darkened room, save for a single spotlight in the centre. If the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have allowed people to come at him from behind, but Piers has guards. Pup recognises some of them, from the lives that they used to lead, back when they had a choice.  
“I have been informed, Mr. Clarke,” Piers addresses him, “that a Mr. Simon Katich from Jolimont has been meeting with you.”  
“Yes,” Pup confirms, because he doesn’t feel that lying would be advantageous.  
After all, guards circle like feeding sharks around Piers’ seat.

Pup doesn’t fear them, but he does fear Piers, and the knowledge that they likewise do.  
“And I also know,” Piers insists, “that he has been discussing a matter of, ahem, staffing with you.”  
“Yes,” Pup echoes, bobbing his head as he provides his answer. “That’s true.”  
“Of course it is,” Piers insists. “So, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear, that that matter has been taken care of.”

When Pup’s eyes widen, he smirks.  
“Mr. Clarke,” Piers speaks up, “the matter is as good as taken care of.”  
“There is a difference,” Pup pleads, then bites down into his bottom lip.  
He breaks the skin with his teeth, and only relents when he tastes blood.

“The matter is as good as taken care of,” Piers repeats.  
He keeps eye contact with Pup for an additional few seconds. Then, Piers flicks his gaze to one of the guards and Pup finds himself looking towards the door, which leads to the outside world.  
“Mr. Clarke will leave now,” Piers instructs.

Pup finds himself walking away, as the door is opened for him. It’s only when he’s outside in the corridor, and the door is closed again, that he realises that nobody made him leave, there wasn’t even a hand on his shoulder guiding him towards following Piers’ edict. Pup sighs heavily and runs one hand through his greying spiky hair, before deciding not to linger outside the door. He knows better than to cross Piers, but he knows better than to trust him, too. That’s why uneasiness overtakes Pup. He’s got nothing else to do but to return home, to a house that’s lonely of his own making. Pup finds himself counting every step out of the building. Once outside, the wind is cold against his face. Pup pauses, to think about everyone he’s tried to love. The decisions he has made before haven’t been correct, so now he can only hope that he’s saving it up for this. Pup walks away, in the knowledge that he’ll be answerable to Kat.


	4. Chapter 4

Father Hayden steps out, to view Justin walks slowly down the aisle of his chapel. He says nothing. Father Hayden raises his chin a little and steels himself with a deep breath through his nose. When Justin reaches the altar, just a step down, he stops.  
“Haydos,” he greets him, then glances around the church.  
He feels a little overdressed, in his robes and clerical collar. Even from Jolimont, Justin is wearing jeans and a black polo shirt. It’s not what he would have once worn to church, but that’s not something that Father Hayden believes is worth questioning.  
“Justin,” he replies.

Father Hayden tries to keep his distance, but he cannot. He approaches Justin, stepping down so that they are standing at the same level. Still, Father Hayden towers over him. It doesn’t seem like that long ago, that he would embrace him. Justin’s face would nestle against his neck, and he would kiss him, and breathe in that gorgeous scent of Justin’s slightly sweaty hair. If he tries, Father Hayden thinks that he can catch whiffs of it in the air now. He doesn’t try, though, just in case he can’t bring himself to resist. Father Hayden shakes his head. He tries to just look sad, rather than angry. It’s not the time for laying blame, if there ever is one.  
“Thank you for coming, Justin,” Father Hayden utters.  
“He’s your boy,” Justin reminds, as if that serves as an explanation.  
It’s one which catches Father Hayden a little off-guard. He hasn’t been expecting the distinction, if Justin is still to care at all.  
“Cameron was our boy,” Father Hayden points out, accusation creeping further into his voice than he would like.

+

Steve is sitting outside the operating theatre, because there’s nowhere else that he would be, when Cameron is in surgery. He’s hunched over, palms together. In fact, Steve is the only one there. Father Hayden has gone to the chapel to pray. He needs that time, not quite alone but without another body around. Steve, though, expresses his love through his presence, something that he’s been showing to Cameron throughout his illness. This is the day when the fog is finally lifted, or all falls down.   
“Steven Smith.” Steve’s eyes dart up at the sound of a familiar voice.  
He notices a man approaching who he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Timothy Paine,” Steve utters, like he’s seen a ghost.  
Tim takes a few steps closer, carrying a cardboard tray holding two cups of coffee.  
“I didn’t know that you were still alive,” he admits.  
Steve shakes his head.

“To be perfectly honest,” he confesses, “I didn’t know either.”  
Steve doesn’t specify whether he’s talking about Tim or himself. Slowly, Tim nods his head, then removes one of the cups of coffee from the tray, handing it to Steve.  
“I thought that you might need this,” he mentions.  
Steve smiles, breathing out as he accepts the coffee.  
“Thank you,” he utters.  
Steve leans back against the wall. He’s not careful not to bump his head, yet still he doesn’t. Steve cups his palms around the cardboard, which warms his skin.

“How did you know?” he queries, wriggling his nose.  
“Ricky Ponting,” Tim supplies. “Word gets around in Jolimont.”  
“Even in Jolimont,” Steve responds.  
He sighs when he says the name of the place he once called home.

“How have you been?” Steve asks, which he feels is a better question.  
Tim hesitates a little, unsure of answering. He knows that he’s lucky, whereas Steve is not.  
“I run the library, now,” Tim explains.  
Steve laughs, like everyone does.

“People reckoned that that was an act,” he recalls, “but I knew that you really do read.”  
“Well, not as much as I used to, outside of work,” Tim counters, taking his opportunity. “I’ve been married, we have a little girl, and another one on the way.”  
Steve’s eyes widened.  
“Wow, Tim,” he responds, shaking his head, “how you’ve grown.”

+

Steve can remember times long ago, when he was young and Jolimont began. It was then that he didn’t know where Tim finished and he started, and that was just how he liked it. Steve didn’t need to be anyone else, because he had Tim, just as fresh-faced as him. Yet, Jolimont withstood at their expense, as their duties, and homes, became separated from each other. Steve stopped missing Tim, and they both found themselves other people to miss. He knew some of the story from there, because it mirrored his own. In its aftermath, Steve used to crave to speak with Tim, to share their trauma. He guessed, though, that that would lead to them sharing each other, and he knew that he couldn’t take that risk again, not in Jolimont, at least.

Those times were the past now, though, because Steve’s life improved, definitely beyond what he had ever shared with Tim. They had been too young back then, for anything they built together to have been real. It could have surprised Steve, that he found his hope in a woman. As it turned out, Tim had too, which wasn’t a shock, in hindsight. Steve knew, without ever having been told, that Tim had made mistakes of his own. His seemed to not have cost him so much. Maybe there is hope for Steve, too, but he can’t yet ponder that. Cameron will be his first priority, at least for the meantime. If he dies, Steve will dedicate himself to his memory.

Yet, he knows that that’s much easier to say, now that it’s becoming less and less likely. If Cameron survives, he will have a second chance, that is perhaps being afforded to Steve as well. He emits a hearty sigh, burying the back of his head further into the wall. Steve’s skull aches, at the possibilities which await him. After all, the borders have been broken down. Steve is free. Jolimont is his for the taking. Steve’s not sure, however, whether he’ll want what he finds there. He would hold no blame, yet still hope blossoms in his gut, as his eyes gloss over with tears, that he, that they will be able to start again. It won’t surprise him if Tim isn’t the only one to have believed that he is dead.

Therefore, Steve doesn’t know what awaits him in Jolimont. More specifically, he doesn’t know if she’ll be waiting. If she believed Steve to be dead, she wouldn’t have been. He understands that, and he knows that the mistake was his own, and he’s been funnelling his guilt into Cameron ever since. Steve blinks, because he can’t think about any of that, not just yet. Cameron has to live first. Father Hayden prays, he hasn’t yet returned from the chapel. Steve doesn’t expect him to, and he accepts that. His vigil is his presence, staying as close to Cameron as he can, sitting outside the theatres. Steve glimpses towards his watch. Surely the transplant must be nearly finished, or at least there will be news on Justin.

Yet, Steve’s aware that his knowledge is the last of the surgeons’ concerns. He knows that Dr. Haynes will do her best, she’s promised him that much, and in that, Steve expects that she will be devoted to Cameron, not him. He expects that, and he would accept it, were his heart not throbbing and his watch ticking too fast, as his head pounds. Steve glances towards the harsh lights overhead. He closes his eyes, and begins to count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. When Steve hears footsteps, he loses his rhythm. He opens his eyes to witness a woman standing nearby, but the woman is not Dr. Haynes, but Dani.

+

Alyssa places her hand over her stomach while she walks through the halls of Jolimont. It doesn’t necessarily suppress her queasiness, but it does make her feel like she’s holding herself in. That’s what Alyssa needs to do, until she can get herself to the cellar, to look for what she’s after. Finally, she scurries down the stairs, into the darkness. While Alyssa is a little anxious, she smiles, remembering coming here with Mitchell. It doesn’t feel like that long ago, but it was before they were married. That’s over two years ago now. By the same token, it’s just gone two years since Mitchell has been in Cliffs, also. That’s a reality which Alyssa doesn’t like to think about.

Therefore, she scampers over to the cupboards, opening and closing them with her spare hand. Alyssa knows that she’s getting warmer. She finds bandages, then bottles of medicine, supplies that the people of Jolimont have been cleansed of their need for. Yet, somebody has saved them, which makes Alyssa question if that is actually true. Finally, her eyes light up and widen with triumph, when she locates a sole pregnancy test kit. Alyssa doesn’t want to guess how long it’s been there for. Hopefully, however, it will still work. Alyssa turns around, resting against the cupboard doors. She’s tempted to take the test here and now, so that she knows for sure. At the same time, it would be undignified and uncomfortable, so Alyssa thinks better of it, instead stashing the box in the pocket of her blazer. She closes the cupboard again, making a note of what else is inside, and abandons the cellar.

+

Steve and Dani talk, and hold each other, and even kiss, like no time has passed at all, making Steve light-headed with relief and joy. Father Hayden returns, though. Steve finds himself clearing his throat and sitting up straighter, before standing to approach him.  
“Justin’s in recovery, one of the nurses just told me,” Father Hayden reveals. “The surgery is progressing well so far.”  
Another wave of relief washes over Steve, drenching him. He glances over his shoulder. Steve realises quickly that he has an introduction to make, but, if anyone is to understand, it will be Father Hayden. He will at least identify with their enforced separation, in one way. Steve knows, however, that Father Hayden never believed Justin to have been dead.

He’s not sure what would hurt more, but he’s certain that his secondary pain is yet to subside. Steve is comfortable providing Dani’s name, but stumbles over just how to label her. His eyes trail down her side. Filtering in through the window at the end of the hallway, the sunlight shifts, prompting the diamond in Dani’s engagement ring to glisten.  
“My fiancée,” Steve states proudly, even though he’s concerned, about how Father Hayden will react.  
He offers a warm grin and a firm handshake. Steve is starting to believe that he can be repaired, now that he has been found.

He won’t consider himself lost, though, because caring for Cameron has been the least that he could have done. Once Father Hayden moves his hands back to his sides, Steve offers a smile to his fiancée. Dani grins back, and he’s immediately flooded with love, for her sweet face and the glisten of her eyes. Steve hasn’t given the dignity of thinking too much about what he’s lost, given he’s been in the Suburbs. He’s recognising what he’ll hopefully gain again. It hits Steve, when Dani links his fingers with hers. All he needs now, is for Cameron’s life to be spared.

+

Even though the tiles gleam underneath her feet, it still seems dirty and unceremonious, for Alyssa to be locked away in a toilet cubicle in Jolimont, with the pregnancy test stick raised in front of her face. She’s watching the window in the plastic almost with suspicion, like she’s disbelieving. Perhaps Alyssa is, and with good reason, given that she’s convinced herself to expect disappointment. Seconds pass by, and she can almost hear them, as they finally take formation as minutes. One. Two. Three, taking an age to be over. Alyssa watches the first thin pink line form. Some part of her is relieved. At least Alyssa won’t have the liberty of speculating, that the test was simply faulty. She’s been tempted to believe that before, when she hasn’t gotten what she’s wanted.

Alyssa’s almost a little distracted, by her own hopelessness and heart thumping to trumpet the arrival of despair. Therefore, what she’s unprepared for most, is the appearance of a second pink line, thickening and strengthening to match the first. Alyssa’s lips slip open, eyes swelling. She leans back, bumping her head against the cool wall behind her. Alyssa gulps audibly. When she looks at the pregnancy test again, gloriously positive, she starts to laugh. Even though she’s beaming, it’s then when Alyssa’s chuckles give way to tears – welcoming, yet grieving – eyes fogging over until neither line is visible. Her whole body quivers when she cries. Alyssa tries to calculate how long it’s been, how far along she is.

Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise, that she can count exactly. Just over two months has passed since Lisa has been able to grant Alyssa brief refuge to see her husband. Disbelieving yet grinning, Alyssa shakes her head. She yanks off some squares of toilet paper and uses them to dab her eyes dry. Once they’re damp, Alyssa balls them up into her palm. She clenches her fist, squeezing tight, and trying not to cry again, not even with joy. Alyssa breathes out slowly. She checks the test again and both pink lines continue to beam back at her. Alyssa affords herself another deep breath, before tucking it into her briefcase. She doubts that she will be able to take it with her, when she sees Mitchell again. That’s Alyssa’s first goal, when she leaves the Jolimont bathrooms in pursuit of Lisa, given that she’s the Whisperer whom she trusts most.

+

Dr. Haynes removes the disposable scrub mask from her mouth. She throws it out, before opening the door and passing out into the hallway, where a group has gathered. They are waiting for the news that only Dr. Haynes can provide, about Cameron and Justin’s wellbeing.   
“We’ve completed the surgery,” she announces.  
Father Hayden sits up straighter.  
“Both patients are now in recovery,” Dr. Haynes tells him.  
“Will they--?” Haydos checks.  
Dr. Haynes gives a nod of her head.  
“From the tests that we’ve been able to run so far, we’re hopeful that they will both make a full recovery,” she confirms.  
Father Hayden slowly bobs his head. When he rises to his feet, with tears in his eyes, he towers over her.  
“Thank you, Dr. Haynes,” Father Hayden states with sincerity.

+

Unable to wipe the grin from her face, Alyssa scurries around the hallways of Jolimont, her fingers protectively curled around the pregnancy test kit, tucked into the pocket of her blazer. She’s searching for Lisa, to relay the joyous news, while aware that she’s likely off on assignment, and therefore unable to be found until the end of the day. Alyssa is desperate to share her news. At the same time, she knows that it’s to be kept a secret from Jolimont, because discussion of her marriage is too much of a risk. There are certainly people whom Alyssa would love to slip knowledge to – Alex, Ricky, for instance. This will likely have to wait, though, until Lisa knows.

Alyssa doesn’t mind keeping her secret for that long. In that case, Mitchell would be the second person she would tell, which seems fitting. Alyssa wishes that he could be the first, but she’s grown to accept what cannot come easily to them, given the circumstances of their involuntary separation. Until then, she has believed that a child falls into that category, too. As Alyssa rounds a quiet corner, she finds herself brushing her other palm over her lower abdomen. While she does so, she’s distracted long enough to bump into somebody coming the other way.  
“Sorry,” Alyssa apologises.  
As she tries not to tumble, her hand slips from her pocket, and the pregnancy test falls from her fingers.

Alyssa’s eyes bulge. She looks at Baz, unharmed by their collision, then together their gazes both dart down to the two pink lines staring back up at them from the carpet. It crosses Alyssa’s mind that maybe Baz is oblivious to what the item is, or perhaps just what it means. The smile she next spots on his lips indicates otherwise, however. At the same time, it comforts Alyssa just a little, that Baz would be happy for her. She bends down and picks up the test. Baz takes a step closer to Alyssa.  
“Congratulations,” he murmurs, “and you’ll find Lisa in the library.”  
“Thank you,” Alyssa responds emphatically, if a little bemused.

+

Steve starts his vigil again by Cameron’s bedside, only stepping outside when another visitor wants the chair. When Ashton returns, after going home for feeble sleep, Dr. Haynes is waiting for him in the corridor.   
“Justin’s awake,” she tells Steve, “and he wants to speak with you.”  
Steve bobs his head, finally dragging his eyes away from the window into Cameron’s room.  
“He knows that you’ve met before,” Dr. Haynes murmurs.  
Steve breathes in.  
“Does he remember everything again?” he asks.

Steve hopes that he won’t have to explain.  
“Nobody knows everything unless you’ve told them,” Dr. Haynes reminds, “but don’t be afraid to tell Justin.”  
“Thank you,” Steve responds.  
Most people wouldn’t understand, but his dynamic with Rachael is different. She did know everything, with only small gaps being filled in. Steve rolls his lips and breathes out as he walks away to search for Justin’s room. His gaze scans over the doors, to locate the number provided to him. Steve seems to surprise him when he reaches it, holding out his splayed fingertips towards it.

His eyes trail down. Steve knows that he will have to tell Justin the truth. He doesn’t want to, especially now that Dani is back in his life. Steve’s not sure whether that makes it harder or easier to hide. Finally, he sighs loudly to himself and tightly clenches his fist, knocking on the door. It pushes ajar, with a creak.  
“You may come in,” Justin permits, from the other side.  
Heart thumping, Steve opens the door further. Justin is sitting up in the hospital bed, dressed in regular clothes again.   
“Steve Smith,” he recognises with a smile. “Thank you for looking after my son.”

Steve’s cheeks glow rosy, embarrassed by Justin’s praise. Yet, he smiles, because he’s thankful for it.  
“Thank you for what you’ve done for Cameron,” Steve responds, looking Justin in the eye.  
“He’s my son,” Justin reminds, like it’s nothing at all.  
Steve wonders if that’s a coping mechanism.

He wouldn’t blame Justin. Steve’s lived like that, for so long, pouring himself into Cameron’s wellbeing. Now, it’s over.  
“Do you have a minute, Steve?” Justin asks. “I’d like to talk to you if you have the time.”  
“Of course,” Steve agrees.  
He steps fully inside, then closes the door again behind him. Steve pads over to the chair beside Justin’s bed. He feels comfortable taking the seat, because Justin is gesturing towards it, offering it to him like an olive branch.  
“I don’t want to dwell on the past,” Justin insists.  
Steve begins to wonder just how much he knows.  
“For either of us,” Justin reassures.

+

While she waits for Lisa’s return, hopefully with Mitchell, Alyssa decides to stay put in the corner of Ricky’s office. She considers her work methodically, as the task of reorganising staffing continues. Finally, though, Alyssa’s tasks are complete, and she needs to return the register to the filing cabinet, so that it can be found by others. She glances over her shoulder, hoping to ask a favour from Ricky, but he is not behind his desk. Alyssa turns her head again, so that she’s facing towards the wall. She feels a little embarrassed, even though nobody is watching her. Maybe it is Alyssa’s loneliness, in the first place, which is the source of her embarrassment.

At the sound of a knock at the door, she breathes in. The door slips open before Alyssa knows who is about to enter, but she relaxes at the sight of a semi-familiar smile, even though she can’t place the name of the blonde-haired woman.  
“Hello, Ms. Healy,” she greets her, then extends her hand. “Laura McGoldrick.”  
Alyssa grins, then begins to stand.  
“No worries, Ms. Healy,” Laura insists. “You may stay seated if you’d like.”  
Alyssa briefly draws her eyebrows together, then smiles again.

+

Mitch is waiting by Pat’s bedside, staring at him while he sleeps, making sure that his chest slowly rises and falls with each breath. It’s calming for him, in that he needs to be confident that all is well with Pat. At the sound of a hasty knock at the door, Mitch startles. As Pat jolts awake, Mitch reaches out his hand, touching his fingertips to the back of Pat’s wrist, to reassure him. Shaun steps into the room, brushing against Mitch’s shoulder to attract his attention.  
“I’ll answer the door,” he promises, in a patient voice.  
Mitch bobs his head, then looks back at Pat as Shaun departs, out of sight. He listens, to the opening of the door.

“Good afternoon,” Shaun greets.  
His tone is stern, which worries Mitch a little.  
“Good afternoon, am I speaking with Mr. Marsh?” the visitor enquires.  
“Yes,” Shaun confirms.

“Mr. Marsh, my name is Mr. James Brayshaw and I’ve been tasked by a Mr. Shane Warne--.”  
“No,” Pat blurts out.  
Mitch hovers over the bed.  
“I have to leave,” Pat insists, starting to blubber. “Please don’t let him take me.”

Mitch climbs onto the bed. He sneaks into position behind Pat, underneath the sheet, and pulls up the blankets.  
“Wriggle down,” Mitch instructs, “until he goes.”  
Pat moves as he’s told. Breathing out slowly, Mitch wraps his arm around Pat’s frame, so that they would look like one body, were Mr. Brayshaw to check.  
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brayshaw,” Shaun apologises. “I live a simple life with my family--.”  
“James,” Bec interjects, unexpectedly.

“Bec O’Donovan?” Brayshaw checks.  
“James, this is my family home,” Bec insists. “My husband is an upstanding citizen. Please tell Warne that you have not found who you are looking for. We are seaside residents and we have seen the bodies on the beach.”  
Mitch can feel the thump of Pat’s heart.  
“Mr. Cummins,” Bec continues, “will not be returning to Warne.”  
Mitch can’t see her, but he can imagine her raising her eyebrows. Brayshaw must be a Whisperer, like Bec was, like Bec is.

“I see,” Brayshaw responds. “I’m sorry.”  
Mitch waits, until the front door is closed. His arm then slips down Pat’s back, when he wriggles free of the bedclothes.  
“You’re safe,” Mitch promises, holding Pat close to him. “Nobody is going to hurt you.”  
He inches up the pillows, to cradle a trembling Pat against his side. Mitch watches, as Shaun and Bec step into sight.  
“Thank you,” Pat begs, unable to shift to look at them.  
“Brayshaw’s not a bad man,” Bec outlines, “but he’ll do whatever Warne tells him to.”

“And,” Mitch points out, “whatever you tell him to, as well.”  
Bec lets out a laugh, before scooping Austin up onto her hip when he scurries into the room to assess the commotion.  
“Thank you,” Pat repeats.  
“It’s the least I can do,” Bec insists, looking at Mitch.

+

Lisa arrives in Cliffs, where Stephen stands guard. She spots that his foot is withering, the waters lapping ever closer away from the rocks. Lisa says nothing, of course, because she knows to save her questions. Her task in Cliffs, after all, is much more important.  
“Ms. Sthalekar,” Stephen addresses her, “you do realise we’re aware of your little games.”  
“Of course,” Lisa vows, with a smile of faked confidence. “You would be very surprised if you knew everything that I knew.”  
She’s bluffing, for the most part. Still, Lisa is much smarter than any guard would credit her for. Stephen chuckles, perhaps to undermine her, and slaps his hands over her shoulder.

Following protocol, Lisa aids him in shoving her over the border by taking a leap forward. She considers enlightening Stephen, that his very purpose is an illusion, but she doesn’t. After all, there is no proof that Cliffs and the Suburbs are the same, that they don’t require the assistance of guards for only Whisperers to pass. Still, Lisa’s aware that Mitchell’s getaways in the guardhouses, and Alyssa’s pregnancy, are proof that anything is possible. She makes a beeline for where she knows Mitchell bides his time. If Lisa can track him down without confronting Warne, then she’s aware it will be easier to escape with him. Yet, when she arrives, her eyes bulge at the emptiness before her. When Lisa turns around, Warne is waiting, shaking his head.

+

 

Alyssa is brimming with optimism, when Lisa steps into her view. Her expression stony, she breathes in, like she doesn’t want to stay what she’s about to, and that’s what causes Alyssa’s face to fall. She rushes forward, towards Lisa. Lisa holds Alyssa’s hands in hers.  
“I’m so sorry,” she apologises, not that it will mean much. “We can’t mind Mitchell. He’s gone.”  
Alyssa gulps, eyes starting to well with frightened tears.  
“It’s alright,” Lisa tries to reassure her, then immediately regrets it.  
She retrieves her hand from Alyssa’s, stroking her fingers down the side of her cheek.  
“Don’t worry,” Lisa insists. “We’ll do what we can.”

Alyssa begins to tremble.  
“It’s not good for you,” Lisa reminds.  
Yet, when she pulls her into an embrace, she squeezes her tightly, closing her own eyes. Lisa can’t cry, she’s a Whisperer. Whisperers are tough, and they don’t spend the night in Jolimont, even to comfort a friend as her perfection starts to shatter. After all, Lisa’s not supposed to have gotten so close.  
“You are strong,” she vows. “That I know to be true.”  
“But I’m not strong enough,” Alyssa blubbers.

Lisa’s actually taken aback, because she hasn’t expected this vulnerability. She’s always thought that Alyssa is as tough as a Whisperer ought to be.  
“I believe that everyone’s only as strong as they need to be,” Lisa utters, “and right now, you need to be strong, so you will be.”  
She pulls back slowly, so that she can look Alyssa in the eye.  
“You’re strong,” Lisa states.   
She sighs with despair, Alyssa’s hands trembling in hers.   
“Let’s take you home,” Lisa murmurs, placing her arm around Alyssa’s shoulders. “Get some sleep. Look after yourself and that baby of yours.”

It’s the first time that either of them have dared to bring up the baby. Alyssa shudders, unsteady on her feet as Lisa guides her away, through the corridors of Jolimont and back to her lodgings. Lisa opens the door, then tries not to look. She glimpses at Alyssa, whose eyes are already closed, anyway, even though she continues to trudge forward. Maybe she couldn’t bear it, the bed turned back, the candles to offer dim light, the photograph atop the chest of drawers. Beforehand, Alyssa had prepared, to receive her husband back. Exercising some of the pragmatism of a Whisperer, Lisa pulls the bedclothes further back, blows out the candle with one breath. She steps back, allowing Alyssa to strip off her clothes, changing into something more comfortable for bed. When she is standing only in her underwear, Lisa notices that her abdomen is starting to curve. Alyssa clutches her belly and Lisa waits, expectant and daunted.


	5. Chapter 5

So far, Adam’s search for Ricky has been unfruitful, when he arrives at the library. It’s his last point of call, save for Richmond train station. Adam doesn’t know why Ricky would be there, though, because it’s not the time of day to be catching a train. Other than that, he can’t think of a good reason to be at the train station. When Adam steps inside, he notices that it’s a little cooler. He can faintly smell the pages and pages which are snugly stacked together on the shelves which Tim tends. He’s standing behind the counter, carefully gluing the spine of a text back together. When Tim glances up, acknowledges Adam’s presence, his expression is stern.

His heart starts to beat a little faster, concerned that something is up. Adam finds himself shaking his head, though. They are very silly thoughts. Yet, Ricky is the only person who makes Adam feel like that, like what he’s been committed to has been erring. He knows that he shouldn’t be that way inclined, so he ignores it.  
"Have you seen Ricky, Tim?” Adam asks.  
Tim solemnly nods his head. He narrows his eyes a little. Adam gulps, before Tim has even spoken, when he makes eye contact.   
“He’s crossed the border, into the suburbs,” he confesses, then breathes out like a weight has been lifted.

“That’s not possible,” Adam insists.  
“Yeah,” Tim agrees. “I thought so too, but we were both wrong. It’s been proved.”  
Adam rears back when he breathes in.  
“Why would he go?” he asks.  
Adam’s forming his own suspicions, which makes the answer shock him all the more.  
“He’s gone to see Justin,” Tim divulges, “who is donating a kidney to his son.”  
All of this is unfamiliar to Adam, until his memories come flooding back.

+

Christina steps into the doorway of Cameron’s hospital room, not quite sure what she’s going to see. He’s lying in the bed, head on one pillow, eyes closed, chest rising and falling. Ashton is sitting in the chair beside it, fingers resting either side of the drip that’s taped to the back of Cameron’s hand. He’s staring at him, like he’s willing him to wake up. Christina takes a step into the room. At the soft sound of her feet, Ashton pans his eyes around, spotting her.  
“Hello,” Christina greets in a whisper.  
“Hi,” Ashton replies. “You can come in, if you’d like.”

Christina bobs her head once. She keeps walking into Cameron’s room. Christina reaches for the chair on the other side of the bed, pulling it over so that she can sit down, level with Ashton.  
“Thank you,” she eventually replies.  
Ashton swallows, looking at Cameron again.

“It’s alright,” he reassures her. “You’re family, aren’t you?”  
Christina breathes out, considering her answer.  
“Yes,” she finally confirms. “I am.”  
Christina’s eyes trail down Cameron. She understands the impact of what Ashton is doing, willing him to wake up.  
“I’m his mother,” Christina labels herself.  
Finally, it feels right, knowing that they don’t have to be apart any longer.

+

Granted a morning’s leave by Ricky, Alyssa heads for the Suburbs, for a doctor’s appointment to check on her pregnancy. While he had offered to accompany her, she doesn’t regret her decision to turn him down. Alyssa doesn’t need a chaperone. However, when she crosses the border, she turns to notice thin air beside her. Alyssa can’t help but feel a little lonely. She wishes that Mitchell could have been able to join her. Try as she might, Alyssa can’t keep him from her mind, sick with worry about his safety now that Lisa has not been able to locate him. She knows that there is nothing that she can do, so she takes a deep breath and enters the hospital, heading for the desk.

The woman sitting behind the counter glances up, her face lighting up at the sight of Alyssa.  
“Alyssa Healy,” she remarks, rising to her feet. “Where have you been all these years?”  
“Jolimont,” Alyssa answers.  
Nicole nods, and Alyssa feels ill at ease.

“That sounds right,” Nicole replies, like she just needed a reminder.  
Alyssa narrows her eyes a little, but says no more. What has happened to them all is beyond her comprehension, so she doesn’t try.  
“I’m here for a pregnancy appointment,” Alyssa admits.  
That feels like a sheepish announcement, too.

+

On the third day, Dr. Haynes allows Justin to be wheeled from his room, to be reunited with Cameron, in his room. Father Hayden arrives with the wheelchair. He parks it beside the bed, then places his arm around Justin, helping him as he sits up and swing his legs around gingerly. Somehow, it feels awkward, for them to be touching each other. Either of them could lament that it got to this, but it’s not the time for that. Instead, Father Hayden says nothing as he assists Justin in shifting himself into the wheelchair. He looks him in the eye, catching him by surprise.  
“Thank you, Haydos,” Justin utters, and Father Hayden must smile.

“You’re most welcome,” he replies. “It’s the least I can do.”  
Father Hayden shifts so that he’s out of Justin’s sight, gripping the handles of the wheelchair. He squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again. Father Hayden tries to push from his mind the helplessness he’s felt, when he learned that he and Cameron had been separated from Justin. Even more, the desperation for rectification that he felt when he learned that he, despite having raised the boy, could not help Cameron. Father Hayden wheels Justin out of his hospital room, down the corridor until he reaches the correct doorway, for Cameron’s room.  
“Are you ready?” he asks, halting just out of sight.

“Don’t stop,” Justin instantly answers, and both of them have heard those words before.  
That was a long time ago, though, irrelevant to their current times. Father Hayden pushes Justin further, into the doorway of Cameron’s room. He’s propped up on pillows, with Ashton sitting in the chair by his side. Sensing his father’s presence, Cameron’s eyes pan around. They reach Justin and lock onto him, almost shocked to see him. He hasn’t changed much, although Justin’s eyes bulge, because Cameron has. He’s a man now, which shouldn’t surprise him.  
“Come in, please,” he invites and Justin is glad, looking over his shoulder.

Father Hayden obliges, wheeling him into the room. He positions the wheelchair so that the two men, father and son, can face each other. Still, they are close enough to touch, should they take up that opportunity. Both of them are hurting, so they wouldn’t want to move too far.   
“I’m glad to see that you’re well,” Justin notes, ever so briefly eyeing Cameron up and down.  
He grins, prompting Justin to audibly sigh with relief, remembering that charitable little boy from so long ago.  
“Thanks to you,” Cameron reminds. “Thank you.”  
He reaches out, to take Justin’s hand, not breaking eye contact.  
“Dad,” Cameron adds, and Justin’s shoulders start to shake.  
It’s been a long time since he’s heard that and, while he doesn’t know if he deserves the title, he’s grateful that it’s being offered.

+

Father Hayden and Justin face off, in the chapel once again.   
“I suppose that you’ll be heading back to Jolimont now that you’ve been discharged,” he presumes.  
“Well,” Justin counters. “I was thinking--.”  
He trails off, sighing, heart thumping in his chest about the proposal he’s about to make.

“I was thinking that I would,” Justin confesses, “but I would like you and Cameron to come with me.”  
Justin takes a step closer to Father Hayden, who’s pulling his shoulders back. He’s reminding of just how tall and broad Haydos is. Justin recalls loving that about him, loving how he would fit in under his chin. Now, however, he feels intimidated. That shows, Justin supposes, what time and distance has done to their marriage, and their love.  
“When I selected to go to Jolimont,” he points out, “I never intended to be away from our family.”  
Justin’s eyes trail down.

His gaze settles in the palm of Father Hayden’s open hand, transfixed by the creases in his skin. Justin remembers being caressed by that hand.   
“I thought you would want Jolimont too,” he admits.  
Justin’s voice gets quieter. It sounds stupid, he sounds stupid, that he didn’t know his husband well enough. While it was a confusing time, that’s no excuse. Justin realises that he’s been paying for that mistake ever since, even if he didn’t know it. Slowly, he looks up, to meet Father Hayden’s eyes. Justin stares into them, studying them.

He’s searching beyond the clerical collar and the time that’s passed, for his husband, with whom he built a family.   
“I didn’t know,” Father Hayden confesses.  
Tears well in his eyes, as his hulking frame begins to quake. Father Hayden staggers forward. Justin reaches out, to provide him with a home, in the form of an embrace. He holds Father Hayden close, cheek resting against his collarbone and breathing in his scent, that somehow hasn’t changed.   
“I didn’t know that you would want Jolimont,” he finally finishes his sentence, amongst his sobs.

Justin breathes in through his nose, and clutches Father Hayden tighter. It occurs to him that they have both made mistakes, and both paid the price for them. Cameron has, too. Maybe, though, in the awfulness of their son’s illness, they will have a chance to come back together. It’s too late for Justin to watch Cameron grow up, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t together grow old. Stooped over, Father Hayden brushes his profile against Justin’s. They press their foreheads together, their arms shifting to wrap around each other’s waists. Finally, even amongst his tears, Father Hayden manages to smile. Justin grins back. Haydos’ face is so close to his, that his eyes can barely focus.

Justin moves just enough to make eye contact. As he breathes in, he draws one hand up Haydos’ arm, before they both lean in, lips meeting for a kiss. Justin’s heart swells, as they unravel into each other, he and Haydos pulling the other closer. It’s been a long time, but he finds he hasn’t forgotten. At least, it’s all flooding back now, now that they are back together. Finally, Justin and Haydos’ lips part. They bear dopey grins, laughing like they’re young again. Both Justin and Haydos are a little breathless, softly panting in rhythm with one another. With Haydos’ hand hooked around the back of his neck, Justin knows that he’s home.  
“I don’t need Jolimont,” he muses aloud, “but I need you, and Cameron.”

Father Hayden shakes his head, but he’s beaming despite his tears. He hugs Justin tightly with the furious, rediscovered love.   
“If that’s the case,” Haydos finally murmurs, “we’d better get back to our son. Let’s take him home for family dinner.”  
Justin’s fingers slip into his.  
“Yeah, let’s do that,” he agrees, speaking slowly to stop even himself from crying.  
Hand in hand, Justin and Haydos stroll out of the church. They pass out of the wooden doors, into the dazzling afternoon sunlight.

“You know,” Justin speaks up, “I think that we should invite Steve and his fiancée. From what I’ve heard from Cameron, he’s a wonderful young man.”  
“He is,” Father Hayden agrees, and says no more.  
They amble along the footpath, back to his car.  
“Ashton will be there too, of course,” Haydos reminds Justin.  
“Of course,” Justin affirms. “Our son-in-law.”  
He chuckles.  
“Can you believe that?” Justin remarks. “Our son is old enough to be married. We’re old enough to have a son-in-law.”

What remains unspoken, but is definitely shared knowledge, is that it doesn’t feel that way because of the time apart. Justin and Haydos feel young again, because they’re picking up where they left off. Their time apart is becoming just as hazy a memory as the time before was, during their separation, during Justin’s time in Jolimont. Haydos fetches his key from his pocket and unlocks the car. He opens the passenger side door. Justin smiles when Haydos holds it ajar for him. He pecks him on the lips, before slipping onto the seat with a satisfied grin on his face.

+

Father Hayden’s office is a small box of a room attached to the front of the church. He’s sitting at his desk there, when Steve approaches the wooden door that’s ajar. He wraps his knuckles against it twice, to announce his presence, with Dani. Father Hayden glances up and smiles when he recognises them.  
“Mr. Smith and Ms. Willis,” he greets them. “What have I done for the blessing of your presence? Come inside.”  
Father Hayden glances around the office as he rises to his feet. He locates a second chair and removes a pile of Bibles and certificates from it, so that they can both sit down opposite him.

“We were wondering,” Steve proposes, “if you’d marry us.”  
He takes a breath and raises his shoulders, while still keeping his fingers linked with Dani’s. Her eyes are upon Steve. If Father Hayden needs convincing, he hopes that she’ll be the one to speak up – being the lawyer, and all.  
“I know,” Steve continues, “that we’re not in your regular congregation.”  
“It would be my honour,” Father Hayden insists.  
He leans over the desk, beaming.   
“Steve,” Father Hayden addresses him, “I will never be able to thank you enough for taking care of Cameron, my son.”

He looks over to Dani.  
“And Dani, Steve has always spoken very highly of you,” Father Hayden recalls.  
He glances between them.  
“It would be my honour to marry you both,” Father Hayden echoes.  
“Thank you, Father Hayden,” Steve responds.  
Father Hayden leans back in his seat.  
“It’s incredible that you’re able to be married here at all,” he reflects.

+

Returning home after a day’s work, Laura flicks on the television to distract her as she nurses Harley, while Guppy cooks dinner for the grownups. The stories pass her by, because there’s little that she doesn’t hear from the other Whisperers, if not firsthand. Yet, Laura sits up straighter when familiar faces comes onto the screen.  
“Ladies and gentleman,” Gayle addresses, “I am thrilled to have been appointed as your Mayor.”  
Beside him, Piers wears a smug smile.   
“I must thank this man right here, Piers Morgan, for supporting my election,” Gayle admits.   
He stares down the barrel of the camera.

“As Mayor, and as a former guard, I know that the Suburbs are a unique community,” Gayle insists. “I believe in jobs for guards, so travel to and from Jolimont will be restricted to Whisperers, only.”  
He smirks.  
“After all,” Gayle reminds, “I like to take care of Whisperers.”

He’s never laid a non-professional hand on Laura, but she only does pass through Jesse’s gate, and she’s well-aware of his reputation. Whisperers talk, after all. Carrying two plates, Guppy wanders into the living room, whistling a tune. He freezes, when he spots the men on the television.  
“They’ve,” Guppy begins.  
Reluctantly, Laura responds to the hint of a plea in his tone by nodding her head. Wordlessly, Guppy sits down on the lounge, beside his wife and child.  
“I guess,” he finally speaks up, “this means, that you’ll have work.”  
Laura sighs in response.

Guppy’s eyes pan around to her.  
“I’m sorry,” she apologises. “You’re right, but--.”  
Laura trails off, as Guppy bobs his head.  
“We know now,” he recalls. “We’re not under any illusions.”  
“That is true,” Laura confirms, “and this won’t be good news for those in Jolimont.”  
“Or the Suburbs,” Guppy insists. “It works both ways, Laura. Now, we depend on each other, and we can’t do that anymore.”  
“Not for the meantime,” Laura points out.

+

For the final time that day, Cameron stands on the front porch, when Ashton opens the door. Smiling, he steps out, fingertips reaching towards his husband’s T-shirt.  
“You know,” Ashton reminds, “this is now our marital home.”  
He pulls himself close, placing his lips against Cameron’s cheek.  
“I should carry you across the threshold,” Ashton suggests, seductively, “particularly seeing as we missed out on a wedding night.”  
Cameron giggles, but doesn’t object. Ashton shoves the doorstopper underneath the bottom of the door, so that it will stay ajar.

Then, he carefully puts one arm around Cameron’s shoulders. Leaning over as Cameron laughs, Ashton tucks the other into the crook of his husband’s knees. He lifts him, cautiously walking over the doorstep, and into their house. Once inside, Cameron holds onto Ashton’s neck. He seals their new life together with a kiss. Another follows, as Ashton places Cameron’s feet onto the floor. He makes sure that he doesn’t drop him, nor burst open his scar. They wrap their arms around each other, kissing passionately. Cameron and Ashton only part their lips to breathe, foreheads placed together. With a smile, Cameron playfully brushes his nose against Ashton’s.

He stays there, in that blissful moment. It’s only when Cameron’s about to stumble back into their bedroom, with Ashton, that he bends over, to remove the doorstop from underneath their front door, carefully closing it. Ashton shuts out the outside world, so that his attention is only paid to Cameron. Cameron’s all he needs, anyway, particularly not that he’s healthy, and not going anywhere. Ashton links his fingers with Cameron’s, beaming, and leads him into the master bedroom. They only make it just past the doorway, when Cameron removes his shirt and discards it onto the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Kat bursts open the door to the office of an unsuspecting Pup. He marches inside, jaw clenches and eyes glinting with anger.  
“Mr. Katich,” Pup addresses him when he rises to his feet, but he is soon silenced by the seething rage written over Kat’s face.  
He walks around the desk, so that he can wrap his hands around Pup’s throat and keep on walking. The chair behind him crashes back into the wall with a thud. Kat grimaces, but is undeterred, as he pushes Pup back until he’s wedged between strong hands and hard gyprock.  
“What did you do?” he implores. 

Pup stammers, squirming as Kat holds him against the wall, the chair digging into the back of his legs.  
“I trusted you,” Kat roars.  
His eyes well with tears as he shifts his hands, onto Pup’s shoulders.  
“I passed the matter onto Piers,” Pup admits. “Now I know, I shouldn’t have done that, but I trusted him too.”  
Kat’s frame starts to quiver. Finally, he takes a step back from Pup. He takes a breath in, grateful to be finally let go. 

Kat continues to shake, while he struggles to look Pup in the eye.  
“It’s safe to say that there’s a fair problem,” he confesses. “Gayle was meant to be dealt with, not promoted, and how he’s shut down the borders.”  
“He has,” Pup confirms, narrowing his eyes to display his growing confusion.  
Finally, Kat glances up at him.  
“How did you get through?” Pup wants to know.  
“I know Whisperers and I know guards,” Kat reveals.  
He tries to cross his arms in front of his chest, to appear tough.

Yet, Kat’s limbs are trembling.  
“I’m sorry,” he insists, gasping, to stop himself from sobbing. “Pup, I’m really sorry.”  
Kat rushes out of the office. He knows that he’s only made things worse, and he still has to cross the border again, if he has any hope of returning to Jolimont. Kat abandons the open door to Pup’s office, then cowers in the corridor. Aching with his own guilt, he breathes out audibly as he pivots, to rest his back against the wall. Kat peers through the doorway, back into Pup’s office. Carefully, Pup is pushing his chair back in under his desk. Kat looks away when he approaches.

It would be within Pup’s liberty to give as good, or as bad, as he got, even though Kat still quivers. Yet, all Pup does is slam the door closed, just as Kat braces for impact. He waits for quiet, then breathes out again, needing to focus on his respiration to prevent himself from crumbling to the floor. Kat pushes himself off the wall and raises his shoulders, walking through the corridors of the headquarters of the Suburbs like he belongs. Every now and then, he catches sight of what is being hidden. It’s the expansion of the building, watched over by guards, whose roles have been multiplied. That’s what Gayle clearly takes seriously. As Kat turns the corner, his gaze is weighed down by his shame. He quickens his pace to a scamper. Finally, he bursts out into the sunshine, and must go home.

+

Kat listens to the sizzle of his cooking, kitchen mostly dark except the light over the stove. He’s still preparing a meal for more than one, even though he desperately doesn’t want to admit to what he’s done. Kat allows the sounds of olive oil slurping into the pan to take over his mind, in the hope that he wouldn’t hear a knock at the front door. That wouldn’t actually absolve him, though. Sure enough, Kat can’t hide from a knock at the front door, so he turns down the heat of the stove and swivels on his heels, exiting the kitchen and heading down the hallway, to answer. He occurs to him as he’s walking that he should have already opened the evening’s bottle of wine, but it’s probably for the best that he hasn’t.

When Kat opens the door, Neroli is standing on the front porch, a cream-coloured scarf spilling out of her dark purple coat. He’s a little surprised by her attire, because it’s never cold enough for such garb in Jolimont. Yet, Kat remembers that she’s a Whisperer, so he doesn’t know where she’s been that day. To be fair, Neroli doesn’t know where he’s been, either. There’s a smile on her lips when Kat first opens the door, which disappears at his stony expression.  
“What’s wrong?” Neroli asks.  
Kat’s first reaction is to want to tell her to come inside. He bites his tongue, though, because he doesn’t want to betray Neroli’s trust. Most likely, Kat already has.  
“I’ve done something that I don’t think that you’d be proud of,” he confesses.  
To his surprise, Neroli walks inside, brushing past Kat and leaving him at the door.

+

Mitch waits outside, patiently, peering back into Shaun’s house. Pat is standing in the open doorway, face exposed to the sun. Mitch reaches out his hand, invitingly, to welcome Pat outside. He says nothing. All of a sudden, Pat scurries off the tiles and onto the sandy grass. With a brave grin, Pat takes Mitch’s hand and, together, they walk across to the beach. A boat is already waiting for them in the shallows, with Freddie onboard. Pat halts, sinking his feet into the sand.  
“What’s the matter?” Mitch asks quietly, even though he senses that he already knows.  
“I, I,” Pat stammers, “I can’t go on that boat.”

Mitch breathes out, then moves closer to him. He knows that they can’t waste time. Still, Mitch won’t pressure Pat, because that’s not fair or productive, either.  
“Pat,” he murmurs.  
Pat’s hand starts to shake uncontrollably. His fingers jolt from Mitch’s grip.  
“Pat,” Mitch echoes.  
He’s stagnant, not sure how he can help Pat. Mitch finally takes a step closer to him, but before he has a chance to embrace him and reassure him, Freddie passes him.

“It’s alright, you’re not going out there again,” he reassures.  
Freddie places his arm around Pat’s shoulders. He walks him back across the sand to the back door of Shaun’s house, with Mitch trailing after them. He briefly flicks his eyes over his shoulder, to witness the boat abandoned. It doesn’t matter, Mitch knows that. Still, some part of him wants to ensure that it is not stolen or sunk, so that they’ll be able to try again. In the meantime, though, as Freddie reaches Shaun’s home again, Mitch’s priority is Pat. He’s filled with fear that he’s not recovering at all. Mitch follows Freddie inside, just as Pat lies down on the bed.

+

When Warne summons a Whisperer to Cliffs, particularly a female, Neroli takes up the assignment, logging it so that Huss knows where she has gone. She doesn’t even leave it for Lisa, because she knows that he might suspect her. Neroli believes that a fresh face, unfamiliar to Warne, will be most successful. She brushes her hair and doesn’t pull it back. Neroli dresses herself in tight clothes. She’s beginning to curse her high-heeled shoes by the time that she reaches the border.  
“You look nice, Neroli,” Stephen compliments when she passes through.  
She says nothing, trying to remain unaffected.

Neroli enters Cliffs. She flicks her eyes back and forth, like she’s looking for where she’s going. Instead, Neroli is searching for Mitchell, to ascertain his presence and his safety. If he has escaped, were that even possible, he would have made contact by now. No matter what Warne might had once believed, that’s something which Neroli still has faith in. She reaches Warne’s quarters, surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke. Neroli doesn’t cough, as she approaches him, as he lets her in, offering her a drink. She accepts, then follows him when his back is turned, down the stairs into the cellar. Neroli is halfway descended, when she hears a voice behind her. That’s where Mitchell is standing.  
“There’s no way out,” he whispers, “because when there is, I’ll find it and get out.”  
Neroli thanks him, then flees, allowing Mitchell a chance to move back out of sight, before Warne returns with drinks for two.

+

Lisa’s face is twisted into a grimace when Neroli is standing opposite her, her encounter with Mitchell retold. It was rare, perhaps even forbidden, for Whisperers to pause like this, but the rules don’t apply anymore.  
“You’re one brave woman, Neroli,” Lisa praises.  
“Thank you, Lisa,” Neroli replies, “but you’ve been braving Cliffs the whole time.”  
“What can I say?” Lisa responds. “We’re Whisperers. It comes with the territory, even though we’d prefer it not to.”  
Neroli narrows her eyes a little, like she’s been challenged.

“We were Whisperers,” she reminds.  
Lisa bobs her head. Her expression’s a little sad, but she doesn’t miss the borders. Lisa can’t, anyway, not while they still very much exist.  
“What does that make us now?” she wants to know.  
Neroli breathes out audibly, to consider the question.  
“Fighters,” she eventually supplies. “Endurers. If that’s a word.”  
Lisa lets out a laugh.  
“If it’s not,” she considers, “then it should be.”

“It should,” Neroli agrees.  
They begin to amble away together, towards nowhere in particular.  
“One day,” Neroli promises the air, “there will be no more borders.”  
“And then even Cliffs will be finally free,” Lisa proposes.

+

Lisa approaches Alyssa in the corridors of Jolimont. She can’t help but eye her up and down, checking to see how pregnant she appears now. Lisa sidles up beside Alyssa, with something of a smile on her lips, so that she won’t panic her.  
“You’re hiding it well,” she whispers. “Do you think you have to?”  
Alyssa laughs with a hint of modesty and nerves. She gently tugs at the oversized blouse that she’s found herself wearing.  
“Oh, maybe,” Alyssa answers. “I find these clothes more comfortable, anyway.”  
She presents a bittersweet grin.

“At home,” Alyssa reveals, “I wear what I have left of Mitchell’s clothes.”  
“About your husband,” Lisa speaks up, stepping in front of her.  
Alyssa stills instantly, instinctively gripping her belly.  
“Neroli, the Whisperer, she went to Cliffs,” Lisa tells her. “Mitchell’s well.”

Alyssa breathes in, then her expression blossoms into a grin when she exhales.  
“That’s a massive relief,” she admits. “Did she, um, did she tell him?”  
“No,” Lisa answers, with a shake of her head. “That’s your job.”  
She allows herself to deepen her smile, but it falters when tears well in Alyssa’s eyes.

They step to the side. By moving into a nook, Alyssa can rest her back against the wall. Out of the main corridor, she feels less exposed, as does Lisa.  
“It’s just that,” Alyssa admits, “he would really love this.”  
Lisa places her hand on Alyssa’s shoulder to offer some comfort.  
“I know that he would,” she reassures. “We’re working as well as we can to get him home to you.”  
“He can cross the border,” Alyssa insists, eyes glossy with steely determination. “It’s just that Warne won’t let him.”  
“That’s right,” Lisa confirms, sadly bobbing her head.

Alyssa narrows her eyes a little. She tilts her head to the side in thought.  
“Who is the guard at Cliffs, if you’re allowed to tell me?” Alyssa queries.  
“Ah, Stephen O’Keefe,” Lisa recalls.  
Alyssa laughs, darkly.

“Oh, if those roles could be reversed,” she laments.  
“I don’t think that Cliffs are pleasant for anyone but Warne, if that’s a consolation,” Lisa points out.  
“Stephen O’Keefe,” Alyssa echoes, thoughts racing through her mind. “Ryan, Adam’s secretary, knew him. I have to speak to him. Maybe there’s something he knows that could get him to turn against Warne.”

+

Neroli is sitting at Kat’s dining table, swilling the red wine in the giant glass that he gave her. From over her shoulder, he returns. Kat places down a dish in front of her, of panna cotta.  
“This looks delicious,” Neroli praises. “Thank you.”  
Kat sits down opposite her.

“You’re welcome,” he replies.  
Kat hands Neroli a spoon.  
“You’ve been off on a long assignment,” he reminds. “You deserve a sweet treat at the end of it.”  
Neroli carefully presses the side of her spoon into the dessert.

“Well, it hasn’t been an official assignment,” she admits.  
Kat stills, in the process of reaching for the stem of his glass of wine.  
“I’ve been to Cliffs,” Neroli confesses.  
She runs her eyes down her chest.

“That’s why I’m all dressed up, not for you,” Neroli explains.  
Kat’s eyes widen.  
“For Warne,” he presumes, but there’s no questioning in his voice.  
Kat takes a moment for understanding to hit him.

“You don’t have to do that,” he insists.  
“I know,” Neroli responds, looking up to look Kat in the eye, “but everyone’s been trying and failing to free those poor people in Cliffs. It’s risky, I know, but I’m willing to put myself on the line for them.”  
She places a spoonful of panna cotta into her mouth, while Kat takes a sip of wine, without an argument.

+

Mitch lingers in the doorway, waiting for Pat’s prompting. He wants to know what happened; why Pat seems so terrified to trying to rescue more bodies that have drifted away from Cliffs. With the help of Freddie, a Seasider with a boat, it seems like a no-brainer to Mitch. He knows, though, that he’s lived a charmed life, but he has heard stories from his mother, about Cliffs.  
“Pat,” he speaks up, deciding on that angle.  
He draws his eyes over, to look at Mitch.  
“Shaun’s my half-brother, actually, did you know that, Pat?” he questions.  
Pat shakes his head, looking surprised.

“I didn’t know that, actually,” he divulges.  
“It’s not something that comes up often,” Mitch admits. “Shaun’s mother passed away when everything got changed over and that’s when Dad rescued my mother, and Mel’s mother. Mum’s raised Shaun as her own, so there’s no difference to us.”  
Pat studies Mitch, then finally nods.  
“Where did your mother come from?” he queries.  
Mitch doesn’t smile, but that’s the question that he wanted Pat to ask.  
“Cliffs,” he answers simply, and Pat’s eyes bulge.  
Mitch waits before he finally steps further into the room. Pat reaches out his hand, prompting Mitch to sit down beside him.  
“I’m so sorry that this is hard for you,” Mitch apologises, “but you can get through this, and I know because my mother did.”


	7. Chapter 7

Cameron is wearing his best suit, as he stands outside the council building. He looks up at the sandstone pillars, then the glass doors at the top of the wide staircase in front of him. Cameron takes a deep breath, then strides up the stairs. A line of guards await him. Gayle must have increased recruitment; there never used to be guards in the suburbs.  
“My name is Cameron,” he introduces, “and I’d like to speak with Mayor Gayle.”  
One of the guards sniggers at him.  
“What is the nature of your visit?” he asks.  
“Professional, of course,” Cameron answers.

He hadn’t planned how he was going to go about this, he probably should have.  
“These council buildings,” Cameron puts on a smile as he glances around at them, “they’re wonderful. They will need maintenance and I have skills that I would like to offer Mayor Gayle.”  
He doesn’t, but he knows that he’s a quick learner.

Cameron only needs his ear.  
“You will need to make an application,” the guard insists.  
Cameron studies his expression. He vaguely thinks that he recognises the guard. Cameron hasn’t spent much time out of the house, other than at the hospital, but that doesn’t mean that fanciful ideas of reasoning with him aren’t developing in his mind.

His eyes widen when finally thinks of his name – Tom.  
“Tom Cooper,” he murmurs under his breath.  
Tom’s gaze bulges too. Cameron steps closer to him, probably closer than he should.  
“What are you doing here, Tom?” he asks. “I didn’t know that you were a guard.”

“I wasn’t,” Tom admits, appearing uncomfortable. “Look, Cameron, fill out the form. I’ll make sure that you can get through, but you have to go through the proper channels. We know what Gayle can do.”  
Cameron nods his head slowly, as he steps back.  
“Alright, mate,” he agrees.  
Cameron’s willing to trust Tom, because he believes that Tom trusts him.  
“Go to the office, to your right,” Tom instructs. “You can’t miss it.”  
Cameron bobs his head.  
“Thank you,” he utters sincerely.  
Cameron walks away, to make his way towards the office. His mind is still buzzing with questions. Cameron studies the line of stern-faced guards, some of them familiar. It frightens him, this new world under Gayle’s control. Perhaps Cameron liked it better before, but for Steve’s sake, he knows that he hasn’t to change things once again.

+

Lisa arrives at Adam’s office with a mandate, but not an instruction. She breathes out quietly, to summon her courage. Then, Lisa raises her eyes and knocks professionally.  
“Come in,” Adam soon advises her.  
Lisa opens the door and steps into the doorway. Sitting beside his desk, Adam flashes a warm grin.  
“My name is Adam Gilchrist,” he introduces himself. “I’m not sure if we’ve met before.”  
Adam strides out from behind his desk, to firmly shake Lisa’s hand. She attempts to keep her expression regulated, as she notices Ryan pausing his study.

Lisa knows of Adam, through Alyssa and Ricky, and they have met before, but she also knows that his mind doesn’t operate like theirs, and that is how his innocence has been maintained. Therefore, she smiles as she shakes his hand.  
“Lisa Sthalekar,” she provides an introduction, then flicks her gaze to Ryan as soon as she can.  
His eyes are wide, like Lisa’s presence makes him nervous, but she doesn’t know precisely why that would be the case.  
“I have been tasked by Ms. Healy to meet with Mr. Carters,” she explains.  
It’s not a lie, even though it’s not precisely true.

Adam nods his head.  
“I can’t argue with that,” he allows.  
“Thank you, Adam,” Ryan replies, then rises to his feet and is escorted out of Adam’s office with Lisa.  
She keeps her expression regulated until she has closed the door again.

“Lisa Sthalekar,” Ryan echoes. “You’re a Whisperer.”  
Lisa upturns one side of her mouth in confirmation.  
“Well, was a Whisperer, that status is up in the air, probably for the best,” she corrects, then draws her eyebrows closer together. “How did you know, Ryan?”  
When he blushes, Lisa finds herself smiling. At the same time, she’s not quite sure of the source of her mirth.  
“Um,” Ryan replies.  
He leans back against the wall beside Adam’s door.

“Ryan,” Lisa allows, “if you’d like to go elsewhere--.”  
“I’m not in the business of keeping secrets,” Ryan insists.  
Lisa bobs her head and keeps just enough distance so that he doesn’t feel crowded. Still, she stays close in front of Ryan, to prevent him from projecting his voice.  
“Do you know Sarah Darmody?” he enquires.  
“Yes,” Lisa confirms.  
“She’s my girlfriend,” Ryan confesses.  
Lisa’s eyes bulge.  
“Oh,” she gulps, “that makes a lot of sense.”

+

Cameron is waiting in the meeting room. He’s almost glad that he’s overheated with nerves. It balances out that the air-conditioning is turned right up to full-blast cold. In some ways, it reminds Cameron of the hospital. Yet, he’s trying not to think of that. Instead, Cameron fiddles with his tie and emits a soft sigh, placing his hands under the table. It’s then when the door opens and, even though he’s expectant, he’s a little startled. Pup enters, leaving the door slightly ajar as his eyes fall onto Cameron. Something of a smirk creeps onto his lips. Cameron chooses to rise to his feet. He recognises Pup.  
“Mr. Clarke,” Cameron greets him, extending his hand professionally.

Pup closes the door before stepping over and shaking Cameron’s hand.  
“Cameron,” he notes. “Father Hayden’s boy.”  
“My reputation precedes me,” Cameron replies.  
He winces quietly as soon as he says it, given that it’s a cheesy line.

“Sit down, I’m not afraid of you,” Pup assures, before they both sit down opposite each other in unison, Cameron’s cheeks flushed.  
“I’m not afraid of you either,” Cameron insists.  
He’s not doing well with playing the tough guy.  
“We’re on the same page, then,” Pup acknowledges.  
Cameron bobs his head once in agreement.  
“What did you want to speak with me about?” Pup asks.  
Cameron looks him right in the eye.

“We need to get the borders taken down again,” he implores. “If that means overthrowing Gayle, then so be it.”  
“Overthrowing Gayle, you say,” Pup responds.  
“If needed,” Cameron permits.  
“Look,” Pup speaks up, then leans forward so that he can lower his voice, “I think we can do that. In fact, I’m very confident. Do you know why Gayle was appointed as Mayor in the first place?”  
“I don’t,” Cameron admits.  
“Well, I do,” Pup divulges.

He hesitates, not sure whether to tell.  
“It was due to my incompetence,” Pup explains, leaving it at that. “As a result, I’m pretty desperate to undo what I shouldn’t have done.”  
Cameron sits up straighter. He thinks about Steve, but decides not to speak about him. Cameron’s getting what he wants without having to. He would be proud of that, but he doesn’t think that he has the right to, because he only wants to play nice, despite his secret-agent-esque cliches. Cameron extends his hand, for Pup to shake again.

“Is this a promise that you’re going to keep?” he checks.  
“Of course,” Pup agrees.  
They firmly shake hands.  
“And how you’ll remove Gayle from power?” Cameron raises his eyebrows in a questioning fashion.

Pup laughs and looks away, before his expression becomes steely again. Cameron clenches his jaw.  
“You’ll know soon enough,” Pup insists. “I’m looking to get this over and done with.”  
“I will give you a deadline,” Cameron offers. “By this Saturday, the borders will be decommissioned again.”  
Pup tilts his head to the side like he’s about to ask why. He doesn’t, though, instead shaking Cameron’s hand again.  
“You have my word,” Pup vows. “If I don’t deliver, I will be answerable to you.”  
It sounds like a threat, but Cameron doesn’t sense that he’s the one being threatened.

“Thank you,” he remembers to say.  
Cameron’s fingers slacken as he remove his hand from Pup’s.  
“It’s the least I can do,” he insists, then rises to his feet and slips back out of the meeting room.  
Cameron remains.

Pup has things to do, after all, like overthrowing Gayle. Cameron looks around, breathing out audibly. He’s not quite sure what to do next. Cameron knows that he can’t make any promises to Steve. Even though Pup seems sure in his conviction, he doesn’t want to let Steve down again, but providing him the hope of having their families for the wedding. That would be cruel, and Cameron’s trying not to be a cruel man. Perhaps he’s broken that pledge by not asking more questions of Pup. Cameron trusts him, because he has to. He’s the man who can bring Gayle down, from what he knows and what he’s done, that haunts him. Personally assured in that confidence, Cameron rises to his feet. He flips his folder closed and tucks it under his arm. Cameron takes a step back from the table, then pushes in his chair. He glances around, hoping that he will never see this room again. If Cameron doesn’t, that means that they’ve succeeded, in bringing Gayle down.

+

Hand in hand, owing to the cold, Adam and Ricky amble down the street.   
“This is mine,” Ricky reminds.  
He flicks his eyes towards the gate that they’ve almost overshot. Adam’s eyes are a little wide, pulled out of his trance by Ricky’s words.  
“Are you alright?” he queries, with a bemused smile.  
Adam finds himself standing closer to Ricky than he’d intended. He doesn’t mind – to the contrary, he likes it, knowing that his lips are close enough to kiss.  
“Would you like to come inside?” Ricky offers.

Adam shakes his head.  
“No,” he rejects.  
Adam would like to, and he knows that that was the question. Still, he can’t, because he doesn’t trust himself, not with Ricky.  
“Thank you, Ricky,” Adam insists.  
He takes a step back, his fingers slipping from Ricky’s, already feeling cold again.  
“I’ve had a lovely evening,” Adam reassures him.  
Ricky smiles.

“Mahela puts on a great feed,” he recalls, “and some good conversation.”  
“Indeed,” Adam agrees.  
He briefly grins.  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ricky,” Adam farewells, waving as he starts to walk backwards.

“Goodnight,” Ricky replies, with a wave of his own.  
Adam stumbles back for another metre or two, before turning around. He quickens his pace, to make his way back to his own dwelling. Adam wants, desperately, to kiss Ricky. It would have been so easy, after the evening that they’ve shared. At the corner, he looks over his shoulder, hoping that Ricky will be waiting and expecting that he won’t. He’s no longer standing by the gate, but he’s at the front door with his key between his fingers. Nonetheless, Ricky’s gazing towards Adam, like he’s missing him alright. He clears his throat, and keeps walking, so that Ricky’s street is out of sight. Adam lives one lane over, but he’s not looking forward to returning to an empty house, to his cold bed. Therefore, he keeps walking, with only the stars above him to shackle him, besides the spinning of his mind.

+

Laura is standing over the stove, stirring marinaded beans with an egg-flip. She leaves them to sizzle, when she hears Guppy’s footsteps behind her. Laura turns around, to witness her husband’s eyes wide with shock, as he holds Harley on his hip.  
“Mayor Gayle has been deposed,” Guppy announces. “That’s what the television is saying.”  
Laura breathes in quickly, then turns off the element before rushing into the living room, with Guppy by her side. She recognises Mr. Michael Clarke, with his greying hair and stylish suit, standing beside Mr. Shane Watson. They don’t touch, and their expressions are stern, a stark contrast to Gayle and Piers Morgan, only about a month prior.  
“We have recognised an injustice,” Pup claims, “and we’re attempting to address it. In the meantime, we thank Mr. Gayle for his service--.”  
“We are looking forward, now,” Shane interjects.  
Laura notices tension between them, which she’s apprehensive of. At the same time, she thinks of all those desperate people, and she hopes that now, they’ll be free.

+

Steve stands at the front of the church. He’s flanked by Cameron and Tim. Father Hayden is waiting, and the pews are filled by their loved ones. Steve is bouncing on the balls of his feet, readjusting his cuffs and patting his pockets even though he knows that they’ll be empty.   
“Do you have the ring?” he checks with Cameron.  
“Yes,” he confirms.  
Cameron retrieves the thin diamond band from his pocket, showing it to Steve.  
“It’s alright,” Steve insists. “Be careful with it, we don’t want to lose it before the ceremony. You can put it back in your pocket, Cameron.”

Bobbing his head, he cautiously drops the ring back into his trouser pocket. Steve is still fidgeting, rolling his lips as he shakily breathes out. Cameron takes a step closer to him.  
“Mate,” he speaks up, holding onto Steve’s shoulders, “it’ll be fine. You’re fine. Today, you’re going to get married. Relax. Enjoy it.”  
Cameron smiles.  
“You will be a brilliant husband to Dani,” he reassures. “Don’t worry about it, please.”  
Cameron’s eyes linger on Steve’s, to reinforce his point. Steve just exhales again.  
“I think that Dani’s running late,” he mentions. “Maybe--.”

“Mate,” Cameron interjects, “isn’t that meant to be good luck?”  
“It’s tradition,” Father Hayden insists.  
Steve looks at Tim, searching for an ally in his worry.  
“Was Bonnie late to your wedding?” he asks.

Steve’s eyes flick to Cameron.  
“I know that you and Ashton weren’t late to your wedding,” he points out. “Were you or Justin late to your wedding?”  
Steve’s facing Father Hayden.  
“Mate, I’ve been married so long, I wouldn’t remember,” he answers, diplomatically.  
“I’m not blaming Dani,” Steve insists, “but she’s coming from Jolimont. Anything could have gone wrong, with the borders.”  
Tim takes a step forward towards Steve, resting his hand on the groom’s shoulder, to keep him still.

“Would you like me to call someone, to check where they are?” he offers. “I’m sure they’re on their way.”  
Steve emits a sigh, like he’s unsure.  
“I don’t want to freak anybody out,” he insists.  
Tim pans his eyes around the church, at the wedding guests, who are all expectant of the bride’s arrival.  
“Thank you, I’d like that,” Steve accepts.  
Just as Tim turns away, Rachael slips into the back of the church.

“Get ready,” she advises. “They’re here.”  
“See,” Tim insists. “Nothing to worry about.”  
He beams at Steve, as does Cameron.   
“It’s time for your wedding,” Tim reminds. “Enjoy every moment.”  
Steve offers a smile in return, then breathes out slowly. The three men stand, watching the aisle, as the organist begins to play. Once the back doors of the church open, Steve waits. His heart is thumping, until he experiences his first glimpse of Dani, once her bridesmaids have entered and made their way to the altar. Steve’s eyes mist over and, he notices, so do those of his soon-to-be wife. He can’t wait, and neither can Dani.

+

Lisa stalks towards where she knows Stephen will be keeping guard of Cliffs. She knows, and resents, his power. As a Whisperer, and a woman, Stephen will always be her ruler, despite the reason for his position. He’s gotten lucky, but that doesn’t mean Lisa say to reward that mindless fortune.  
“Stephen,” she addresses him.  
He shakes his head.  
“You’re amazing, Lisa,” Stephen remarks.  
There’s too much sarcasm in his voice for her liking.  
“No Whisperers want Cliffs,” Stephen insists.

“Well,” Lisa levels, “have you ever considered why? Have you considered that your boy Warney might have something to do with that?”  
She keeps her eyes fixed on Stephen, in an attempt to make him feel uncomfortanble.  
“No,” he frankly admits. “Besides, my boy’s MacGilla.”  
Stephen’s starting to make Lisa feel comfortable, but she doesn’t give him the dignity of telling him.  
“That’s beside the point,” she dismisses, then halts.  
Stephen’s eyes narrow a little, like he’s uncertain of her intentions. Lisa counts that as a win.  
“Your boy MacGilla,” she echoes. “Does he have Warne’s ear?”

Stephen scoffs.  
“You don’t understand,” he claims.  
“Oh,” Lisa retorts, bringing Stephen pause. “I do.”  
She seizes the moment, taking a step closer.

“Stephen, Ryan speaks well of you,” Lisa notes, “so that’s the side of you that I’m appealing to.”  
He raises his chin a little.  
“You have a man from Cliffs called Mitchell Starc,” Lisa explains.  
“I know him,” Stephen confesses.

“Yeah,” Lisa continues, “then you might know that he has a pregnant wife in Jolimont – Alyssa Healy, Ian Healy’s niece.”  
She doesn’t like herself for using the identifier, but she knows that it holds currency with Warne.  
“When she’s in labour, and I come to collect him, Warne will let him go.”  
It’s not a request, it’s an order.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve arrives on Cameron and Ashton’s doorstep, with the remains of his possessions. Carrying a cardboard box, he thrashes the back of his hand against the door, as a substitute for knocking. Soon enough, Steve is relieved to hear footsteps from the other side of the door, before it’s answered by Cameron.  
“Hello, Steve,” he greets him, opening the screen door as quickly as he can. “Come in. It’s good to see you again.”  
“Thank you,” Steve replies, as it steps into Cameron and Ashton’s home. “It’s good to see you too.”  
Cameron carefully closes the doors again behind him.

“Ashton will be back soon, he’s just ducked out to the shops,” he explains.  
Steve bobs his head.  
“I just brought this for you,” he notes.  
Steve holds out the cardboard box towards Cameron.

“Thank you,” he responds, then places it down. “How are you?”  
Steve purses his lips. He appears to be confused by the question, even though it’s simple.  
“How’s married life treating you?” Cameron presses.  
Steve smiles.

“It’s good,” he confirms. “We’re very, very lucky. It’s wonderful. I thought that I’d never see her again.”  
Cameron studies Steve’s expression, unable to stop himself from wondering how much Dani played on Steve’s mind, when he was caring for him.  
“Steve,” he speaks up, catching Steve off-guard, “you don’t owe me anything. If anything, it’s the opposite, I owe you everything. You looked after me and you took care of me and you didn’t even know me.”  
Cameron takes a step closer to Steve.

“I’m grateful,” he promises, “that you have done this for me. Would you like to be friends, now? Just regular friends, I’d like that.”  
Steve grins.  
“I’d like that too,” he admits.  
“Well, as your friend, I want you not to worry about me,” Cameron advises.  
He lets out a laugh.   
“After all, I have Ashton for that,” Cameron reminds.  
“I’m glad that he takes care of you now,” Steve divulges.

“And I take care of him, too,” Cameron reassures.  
Steve nods.  
“We’re thinking of going away on a honeymoon,” Cameron admits. “I would love to explore Jolimont, to find out more about where my father has been all this time.”  
“I’m pleased for you,” Steve insists.  
“Have you thought about going on your own honeymoon?” Cameron enquires.  
“I haven’t,” Steve confesses. “So far, I’ve just been focused on being the best husband that I can be.”  
He hums softly in thought, now that it’s been placed in his mind.

“You don’t have to feel,” Cameron reassures, choosing his words carefully, “like you have to stick around.”  
Steve shakes his head.  
“I do,” Steve insists, “but thank you.”  
Cameron laughs, to emphasise his point.  
“I’m serious, Steve,” he reinforces. “Your errors, you’ve made up for them tenfold. It is finished.”  
It’s tricky for them to speak about this, because it makes Steve feel embarrassed. To him, it cheapens his time with Cameron.

“I shouldn’t say this--.”  
“Say it,” Cameron permits.  
“Thank you,” Steve murmurs. “I would like to think that, had you been in need, I would have helped you anyway.”  
Cameron shakes his head immediately, then stops himself when he sees Steve’s face fall.  
“I trust you,” he insists. “I believe you. My father told you, the past doesn’t matter anymore.”  
Cameron leans in a little closer.  
“It’s alright to believe that,” he reassures. “I do, at least in some circumstances.”

“Which ones don’t you?” Steve wants to know.  
“Well, my fathers,” Cameron points out. “It matters that they were married, but now, it’s about the future. It’s about how they can grow old together. They have a second chance, and so do you.”  
Steve draws together his features, so thankful for Cameron’s profession.

“Do you want a hug, Steve?” he offers.  
As Steve bobs his head, Cameron wraps him into a tight embrace.  
“You helped me,” he reminds, “and I’d like to think that I helped you.”  
“Trust me, you did,” Steve insists.

Cameron beams, with tears in his eyes.  
“I just want you to be alright,” he vows, “because I wouldn’t be here without you.”  
They squeeze each other one last time, then part.  
“I’m running out of things to say,” Cameron admits.

Steve giggles.  
“Go home to that gorgeous wife of yours,” Cameron instructs.  
He glimpses towards the box of his belongings which Steve delivered.  
“Ashton will be home soon and I’ll get these unpacked,” Cameron notes.

Steve bobs his head and makes his way for the door.  
“See you soon,” he farewells.  
“Absolutely,” Cameron promises.  
Steve steps out the door, as Cameron reaches the doorstep.

“I’m proud of you,” he praises, at the sight of the car. “You drove me around, and that must have been terrifying for you.”  
“It can’t have been as terrifying as what you went through,” Steve insists.  
“We’re through it,” Cameron reminds. “It is finished, it is finished, it is finished.”  
“Indeed it is,” Steve confirms, then gets into his car.

+

Every day in Jolimont offers new promise, even though it could be overwhelming. Ryan sees that on Adam’s face, whenever he guiltily checks over his shoulder. He has a privileged position from the corner of the office, to check who is coming and going from abroad.  
“Ryan,” Adam speaks up, like he could read his mind.  
He knows that he can’t, because otherwise this would have happened a lot sooner. Ryan shifts on his chair, so that he can fully look at his boss, who is behind his desk.  
“Do you know anyone from the Suburbs?” Adam wants to know.  
“Yes,” Ryan confirms. “At least, I think so.”

He cannot be sure, given how long it has been that he has been in Jolimont. Adam rises to his feet and walks over to Ryan’s desk, presenting him with a list.  
“Do you know any of these people?” he enquires.  
Ryan pans his eyes down the list of names.  
“Yes,” he confirms, without hesitation. “Ed Cowan. I know him.”  
“Does he know anybody else in Jolimont?” Adam queries.  
“Um,” Ryan responds, “he might do. I don’t really know.”  
He leans back in his chair, wanting to ask why.

Ryan doesn’t, though, because he still doesn’t want to challenge Adam’s authority.  
“He is a librarian,” Adam explains, without having to be asked. “Our librarian, Tim Paine, would like to meet with him, to exchange books.”  
Ryan’s eyes light up.  
“I believe that they did know each other,” he confesses.  
“That’s the connection,” Adam remarks. “Thank you, Ryan.”  
“No worries,” Ryan reassures.  
Adam wanders back and sits down behind his desk, clipboard in hand.

“It would be good to have Ed share books with us,” Ryan admits.   
He might be speaking out of turn, but he wants to stand up for his friend.  
“We can learn from others, I believe,” Ryan utters.  
Adam smiles.  
“I would like to learn from others, too,” he reveals. “Just between the two of us, I would like to learn what happened in the first place, and how we managed to become so divided.”  
“That,” Ryan laments, “might not be an easy answer.”

+

With the car packed, Steve heads back into the house, to locate Dani.  
“Dan,” he calls out. “Are you alright?”  
“Yeah,” Dani responds, her voice thin.  
Steve quickens his anxious paces as he reaches the bathroom, with the door half-ajar.

“Dani,” he murmurs, when he spots her.  
Steve steps onto the cool tiles and crouches down in front of Dani, who is curled up and resting in the nook between the toilet and the bath.  
“Did you fall?” he asks.  
Dani shakes her head.  
“No,” she answers. “I feel queasy.”  
Steve nods his head slowly and, anguished, runs one hand over her blonde hair.  
“You don’t have a temperature,” he notes.

Steve leans forward and presses a reassuring kiss to Dani’s forehead.  
“You’ll be alright,” he promises. “Dr. Haynes can check you out so that you’re not feeling sick when we’re away.”  
Steve doesn’t begin to unpack the suppositions that he’s just made. He doesn’t want to, but he craves that confidence in the vows that he’s made.  
“Will you be alright here?” Steve checks.  
When Dani nods, he leaves the bathroom, to find the phone to call Dr. Haynes.

+

A smile creeps onto Pup’s lips when he pans his eyes around his new office. The role of Mayor of the Suburbs definitely comes with responsibilities, but also a large office, the only thing that he can thankful Gayle for. In the meantime, it’s only an empty shell, with Dwayne removing Gayle’s paraphernalia within the first twenty-four hours. Now, Pup has the chance to make it his own. That, however, will come in time. In the meantime, Pup knows that he has work to do, so he sits down in his large chair – thankfully Dwayne thought Gayle had no use for his furniture. He flips open his diary and grunts when he spots that his first meeting for the day is with none other than a Mr. Shane Watson, a familiar name.

In fact, when Pup glances up, Shane is filling the still-open doorway, wearing a well-fitting suit. Pup leans back in his chair.  
“Come in,” he invites, “and shut the door, please.”  
Shane obliges, then takes up the chair opposite Pup without asking first.  
“I’m not sure where that came from,” he admits.  
Shane looks bemused, which is exactly how Pup likes him.  
“The chair, I mean,” he points out, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  
“Oh,” Shane replies, curling his fingers around the arms of the chair.

“Gayle didn’t leave it behind,” Pup points out, “because he doesn’t provide a chair for his company.”  
“Well,” Shane replies, “that’s why I’m here. I’ve made a fair enemy out of Mr. Gayle.”  
Pup nods his head slowly, because he already knows that – he likes that, too.  
“Right,” he responds, “and you want my help.”  
“Well,” Shane echoes, making Pup think that it’s his favourite thing to say, “I would. Look, Pup, I don’t want to cast any negative thoughts onto Mr. Gayle.”  
Pup scoffs as he leans forward in his seat.

+

Dani is seated on the edge of the bed, fingers gripped onto its edge. Steve is pacing around it, until Dr. Haynes returns. Then, he glances towards her, pleadingly. Steve’s time with Cameron has allowed him to fear the worst. Straight away, he notices a light in Dr. Haynes’ eyes, which he nonetheless doesn’t understand. She makes sure that she closes the door before addressing them.  
“Your symptoms are to be expected,” Dr. Haynes divulges. “Dani, you’re pregnant.”  
Steve’s eyes widen with shock, then he looks at Dani. Something of a grin creeps onto her expression, paler from illness.

“Congratulations,” Dr. Haynes adds.  
Steve carefully sits down on the side of the bed, beside Dani, as he places his arm around her.  
“Did you suspect--?” he asks.  
Dani bobs his head.

“It crossed my mind,” she confesses, “but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”  
Dani halts, looking Steve in the eye.  
“Are you happy?” she checks.  
“Yes,” Steve confirms, “if you are.”  
“Of course I am,” Dani promises, before Steve takes in a breath, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

+

It’s late afternoon, to finish off the day, when Tim is reorganising the library shelves. Ed will be arriving soon, with fresh books from the Suburbs. Tim is even more excited about being able to see his friend again than he is about longed-for literature. That says a lot about how much he’s missed him, even though he hasn’t realised until the opportunity to be reunited arose. When he hears footsteps, Tim’s eyes dart to the left, heart thumping. He’s ready to run. Yet, it’s not Ed whom Tim witnesses. Instead, there is a younger man standing there, albeit one who appears much older than when they last spent time together.  
“Jimmy,” Tim murmurs.

He can’t say anymore, nor move. If Tim thought that he’d never see Ed again, then he feels that tenfold for Jimmy, with a good helping of guilty relief. Jimmy’s eyes run all over him, differently to how they used to. Tim’s no longer being admired, but instead, examined. Jimmy halts at his wedding ring. Tim wants to try and cover up the band with his other hand, but he doesn’t, because he loves his wife and he doesn’t regret his marriage for even a split-second. Jimmy was his past, but he’s grateful to have been able to leave that behind. Except, of course, that Jimmy is now standing in his library, in Jolimont, and hasn’t given any indication of why he’s here.

“Jimmy,” Tim speaks up.  
“It’s alright, Tim,” Jimmy reassures. “You don’t have to like me.”  
He laughs, darkly, in the way that Tim used to love. Now, it makes him uncomfortable. Tim doesn’t even smile in fond recollection, because he almost detests it. Jimmy will always been different to Steve. Tim knows, though, that that’s his own fault, almost as much as Jimmy’s.  
“I mean,” Jimmy clarifies, “I don’t like me. So, I wouldn’t expect you to--.”  
“Don’t say that,” Tim interjects.

Jimmy narrows his eyes.  
“What?” he checks.  
Tim clears his throat.  
“Don’t say that you don’t like yourself,” he repeats, even though he wishes that he didn’t have to.

“Why?” Jimmy asks.  
There are still some buttons that he can push for Tim.  
“Because,” he answers, against his better judgment. “For me, please.”  
Jimmy scoffs.

Tim takes a step closer to him.  
“Please don’t drag me back there,” he begs.  
It’s selfish of Tim and he knows it, but he can’t go back there. He has already crawled himself out once, of thinking that what they did was alright.  
“They made me a guard,” Jimmy divulges.  
Tim laughs, and it’s the worst thing that he could have done, but he feels just a bit better for a split-second afterwards.  
“And they made you a librarian,” Jimmy notes.

This time, Tim’s chuckling is with Jimmy, not at him. From Jimmy’s perspective, he’s been punished more harshly. Tim believes, however, that that’s simply not true. In Jolimont, a second chance has been afforded to him. Tim has a family and a purpose, but he supposes that Jimmy has neither, without a chance to grow. He assumes that that’s how they – whomever they are – stay in power. They take a kid like Jimmy, who did dastardly things to guards so that his boyfriend could skinny-dip, and make him a guard himself. It’s better than death. It means that Jimmy won’t rebel, he’ll come to love the borders, because they represent his survival.

He won’t dissent again and, therefore, he’s no longer a threat. Tim was that skinny-dipping boyfriend, who Ricky ensured could get a respectable job, as a librarian. Sure, he had to give up his love. That was acceptable, from an individual perspective, because he knew that his fling with Jimmy was never going to last the distance. They would both grow up, and when Jimmy did, Tim knew that another man would love him more, something that he accepted. It was different to losing Steve, but he had grown apart from Jimmy, too. Tim was the lucky one, who now had the love of his life. He can’t be in the situation he is in now, if Steve and Jimmy don’t fall out of his life first.

“Have you heard from George?” he enquires, because he selfishly needs to know.  
Jimmy shakes his head and Tim thinks that his eyes gloss over a little. Maybe, just privately, he hopes that they do. Tim craves that Jimmy will still be in love with someone else, so that he doesn’t have to admit to his own sin.  
“Tim,” Jimmy speaks up, “George doesn’t deserve me.”  
“Stop saying that,” Tim insists, through gritted teeth.  
“Tim,” Jimmy echoes, “I don’t blame you.”  
“You should,” Tim instructs. “That’s my problem here. I’m fine, but maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Please,” Jimmy begs, “be fine. That’s better than neither of us.”  
It’s only when they lock eyes that Tim realises that they’re having an argument. He takes a breath to steady his racing heart, then nods. Tim needs to accept Jimmy’s offer, before he’s forced to withdraw it.  
“Thank you,” he professes, voice thinning.  
Jimmy smiles.  
“It’s the least I can do,” he insists.  
“Would you,” Tim queries, taking a step closer, “would you like to meet my family?”

Jimmy beams.  
“I’d love that,” he admits. “I would love to meet the people who make you happy now.”  
Tim grins, finding tears welling in his eyes.  
“Come over for dinner tonight,” he offers.

Tim doesn’t know if there are restrictions placed on Jimmy. It’s entirely possible, if he is still a guard, not that it’s a prized role anymore.  
“Thank you,” Jimmy accepts. “I’d like that.”  
Their eyes linger on each other, with the awkwardness of exes. Tim is growing more confident that that’s all it needs to be, nothing more.  
“So,” Jimmy proposes, “who is in your family?”  
“Well, my wife,” Tim answers, “and we have a daughter and a dog.”  
Jimmy laughs.

“Good to know that the wife and the daughter come before the dog,” he quips.  
Tim smiles fondly. He’s forgotten just how much he likes Jimmy’s teasing, when it’s simple and easy, not meant with any ill-feelings behind it. Tim tries to imagine a world when they never went off the rails together, when they never found themselves abandoning George, and didn’t have to abandon each other. Not for a moment does he think that they are together in this world. Perhaps Jimmy is happier, but Tim hopes that he’s happy enough, or at least he’s forging a path towards it.  
“Well,” Tim replies, cheekily, “mostly the daughter comes before the dog.”  
Jimmy chuckles.

He doesn’t seem like a boy to Tim anymore. Jimmy used to be so young, and that was once the problem. It’s not, anymore, but Tim doesn’t want to promise something that he can’t deliver on.  
“You know,” he admits anyway, “Ed Cowan is coming over soon.”  
Jimmy raises his eyebrows, then bobs his head, recalling the name.

“I was going to ask him about George, of course,” Tim confesses.  
Maybe it’s true, maybe it isn’t. Tim can’t verify for himself either way, so it’s a moot point for Jimmy.  
“Do whatever you want,” Jimmy permits, but it’s not dismissive.  
Out of the corner of his eye, Tim notices a familiar man entering the library.

“Maybe,” he points out, “you don’t have to ask at all.”  
Jimmy turns around quickly. George is standing there, smiling as ever, even though his eyes are wide with shock. Jimmy sighs, then rushes towards George. Tim grins at them, as they find themselves hugging, limbs draped over each other like they don’t quite know where they fit. While so much is changing, maybe some things are returning to what they always should have been.

+

Neroli flicks her gaze up to Kat. He’s sitting opposite her at his dining table, on the other side of both of their hands of cards. A fierce battle has been underway since the dessert dishes have been loaded into the dishwasher, which grunts softly in the kitchen as it undertakes its cleaning cycle without intervention. Given that it is his turn in their latest round of rummy, Kat retrieves a five of clubs, recently discarded by Neroli, from the pile. He adds it to his deck, taking no further action except for placing down the obligatory card which he must give away. When Neroli spots the queen of hearts, her expression remains even – too even.

“My goodness, Neroli,” Kat mutters, with a smile on his face.  
Finally, Neroli laughs, snatching the card. She proudly places down her run – the king, queen, jack and ten, all of hearts. Kat pretends to grimace.  
“I knew that you had a good one,” he reveals. “It was written all over your face.”  
Neroli leans back in her chair. She reaches for her glass of wine and takes a sip.  
“Really?” Neroli wants to know, a little incredulous. “I would have thought that I had a pretty good poker face.”  
“Well, this isn’t poker,” Kat points out, “and you do.”

“Playing with Warne, that’s taught me a thing or two,” Neroli confesses.  
Kat’s face falls. The grin evaporates from Neroli’s lips, as well.  
“I’m sorry,” she apologises.  
Neroli leans forward, then sighs heavily.

“Actually, I’m not,” she retracts.   
Neroli places down her hand of cards on the edge of the dining table, albeit still ensuring that they remain face down in her frustration. She bursts to her feet.  
“Neroli,” Kat speaks up, still in his chair.  
He sounds defeated, not angry.  
“I’m not sorry because I’m not seeking your approval,” Neroli reminds.  
Kat shakes his head.  
“You don’t have to seek my approval,” he insists.

Kat stands, also, to prove that he cares.  
“You’re a Whisperer, Neroli, you’re tough because you have to be,” he asserts.  
Kat scoffs, then sighs.  
“You don’t need me to tell you this,” he assures.

Neroli continues to look at Kat, unblinkingly, watching him as he swallows, nervous in expectation of receiving her reply.  
“I would,” he continues, when he realises that she’s staying silent for now, “I would be nervous for any Whisperer.”  
Kat is choosing his words carefully, not wanting to offend, accidentally or otherwise.  
“Male or female,” he adds. “Cliffs is a dangerous place, regardless.”  
Neroli’s glance finally darts away, more quickly than Kat expected.  
“I know that,” she reminds him.

“Of course,” Kat affirms. “Look, Neroli--.”  
He exhales audibly, with a hint of frustration.  
“I feel embarrassed even having this conversation,” Kat confesses. “We were just playing rummy together. I don’t know how we get some playing rummy and drinking wine to this.”

He suspects, but he won’t voice those feelings aloud.  
“I guess that we’re both nervous of each other,” Neroli supposes, looking Kat in the eye again.  
He waits a beat, a little dumbstruck, then nods his head once.  
“That’s exactly right, Neroli,” Kat confirms.

Finally, she smiles, then lets out a laugh.  
“Do I scare you, Kato?” Neroli remarks.  
“Yes, Ms. Meadows,” Kat answers. “I think that you do.”  
“Well, then,” Neroli replies, stepping out from between her chair and the table.

Kat swallows, studying her expression.  
“I don’t know if I like that or not,” Neroli admits.  
She’s still kind of smiling. In truth, that makes Kat even more nervous, as Neroli struts closer. She makes her way around the end of the table. Kat pivots, so that he is better facing towards Neroli, resisting the urge to run his eyes down her body and back up again. He can’t do that, at least not yet. Kat must wait for Neroli’s approach. She gets closer to him, then stops. Kat stretches his fingers by his sides.  
“Neroli,” he finally speaks up, under his breath.

“Kat,” Neroli replies, “please tell me if--.”  
“I’m not going to tell you anything to the contrary,” Kat assures.  
He cannot raise his voice beyond a whisper, as Neroli takes her final step closer to him, her clothes brushing against his. Neroli’s arm hooks around the back of Kat’s neck, his fingers threading into her wavy hair. They pull each other closer, indulging in a brief kiss.  
“Neroli,” Kat echoes, speaking to stop himself. “We’re in Jolimont. I shouldn’t--.”  
Neroli clears her throat, cutting him off.

She withdraws her arm and places it by her side.  
“I could say--,” Neroli speaks up, then pauses.  
“What could you say?” Kat wants to know.  
Neroli looks him in the eye, and he doesn’t blink.

“I could say that Jolimont’s a construction,” she reminds. “It’s an illusion.”  
“And it’s rules are too,” Kat supposes, allowing himself to pull Neroli close again, permitting her to kiss him again.  
Their hands move without pace, over each other’s clothes, leaving them on for now. Kat and Neroli stay at the end of the kitchen table, glasses of wine and hands of cards abandoned, at least for the meantime, while other discoveries await.

+

Cameron is folding the washing, when arms wrap around his waist. He smiles and shifts his body to relax into Ashton’s embrace. Ashton presses a line of kisses along the side of Cameron’s neck.  
“What do you think,” he asks, “would you like to cook for dinner tonight?”  
“Well,” Cameron replies, “we’ve got that spaghetti there, that might be nice.”

He cranes his neck, to try to look Ashton in the eye.  
“What do you reckon?” Cameron queries.  
“I think,” Ashton answers, providing kisses as punctuation, “that sounds nice too.”  
Cameron smiles.

“I’m glad,” he responds, then turns around so that he and Ashton are standing front-to-front.  
Cameron slings his arms around Ashton’s neck and lightly kisses his lips.  
“What are you thinking about, Cam?” Ashton wants to know.  
“Steve,” Cameron admits.

When Ashton laughs, Cameron pouts.  
“I’m just hoping that Steve’s having a good time on his honeymoon,” Cameron admits. “I mean, he deserves a break, after looking after me.”  
“You,” Ashton insists, “have never been a burden on anyone.”  
Briefly, they press their foreheads together, before Cameron emits a soft sigh and leans back against Ashton’s forearms.  
“I still want Steve to be alright, though,” he admits.  
“Cameron, I want Steve to be alright too,” Ashton agrees.

He breathes in, considering his words.  
“I love you, Cameron, more than anything else,” Ashton vows, “and, part of the reason that you’re here, is Steve. Steve did everything that he could for you.”  
This time, it’s his turn to sigh.  
“I’m your husband,” Ashton insists. “I promised to give all that I am to you. Now, that’s what I’m going to try to do, but Steve’s already done that for you.”  
Cameron flashes a smile.  
“He has,” he acknowledges, “but I’ve never done this to Steve.”  
Passionately, Cameron kisses Ashton and slides his hands up his husband’s shirt.

+

Engulfed by darkness, Kat’s eyes are closed, and his skin overtaken by heat which cannot keep him still. His own lips taste metallic as his tongue juts over them, before being sucked back in, its tip nipped by his clenching teeth. Kat twitches, as he hears shouting and shattering around him, and rushes of wind and liquid. He can still smell sweat and beer. Finally, Kat throws out his open palm with desperation, convulsing heart suspended in his throat. When Neroli grunts as she is awoken by the back of Kat’s hand against her neck, his eyes open.   
“I’m so, so sorry,” he pants. “I was . . .”

“You’re alright, Kat,” Neroli reassures.  
She props herself up against the pillow and carefully touches Kat’s forehead with her wrist, checking that his temperature is raised and his skin is clammy.  
“Are you alright?” he checks.  
“Yes,” Neroli confirms, bobbing her head. “Are you able to go back to sleep?”  
“Yeah,” Kat promises, even though he doesn’t sound convinced.  
Neroli feels compelled to believe him, so she snuggles back into bed beside him and closes her eyes.

+

The walls of Huss’ office are adorned with shelves, with books lined up on them, spines facing outwards and straight upright like soldiers in uniform standing to attention. Ricky is occupying the chair on the same side of his desk to the door, sitting in a professional posture and looking at Huss. After all, he comes with a request which could prove difficult.  
“I would like you to go to the Suburbs, Huss,” Ricky requests. “You don’t have to move there, you don’t even have to move your office there. Simply, you’ll be an ambassador, to work with the Mayor there, Michael Clarke.”  
Huss bobs his head in acceptance.

“I would be honoured to take up that role, Punter,” he agrees.  
“Good,” Ricky affirms. “Do you have any questions?”  
“I do have one,” Huss admits. “If it’s not too bold to ask, why did you select me? I mean, Justin’s moving there anyway, so why give me this position?”  
Ricky relaxes in his seat and grins to relax Huss, before he tells him the answer.  
“Well, it’s just that I believe that the Suburbs could do with someone like you,” he explains. “Michael Clarke could do with someone like you, around him.”  
Huss nods his head again and says nothing more.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” he assures.  
Ricky smiles, then rises to his feet.  
“I will make sure that the details are passed on,” he promises. “Until then, unfortunately, I have elsewhere to be.”  
“No worries, I know that you’re a busy man, Punter,” Huss reassures. “Thank you for coming to see me.”  
“I felt I had to tell you the news in person,” Ricky insists, then walks around his chairs, pushes it in and departs from Huss’ office.

Soon enough, he’s replaced by Claire. She struts over and takes up the seat, without asking Huss first.  
“The Suburbs, hey,” Claire says. “That’s an impressive offer. No wonder you took it straight away.”  
“It is,” Huss affirms, something of a blush pools in his cheeks.  
He leans back in his seat, before briefly drawing his eyebrows together. Claire grins, recognising Huss’ bemusement.  
“I was standing on the other side of the door,” she explains. “You were in a meeting, so that was all I could do.”

Claire places her palms against each other, then leans forward over the desk.  
“Not that you need me to be your memory,” she points out.  
“You are handy with your good memory, Claire,” Huss praises.  
“I don’t doubt it, thank you,” she remarks in reply, “but your memory is excellent, Huss.”

“I’m just doing my best,” Huss insists.  
“And that’s something that the Suburbs are much in need of,” Claire notes.  
Huss widens his eyes.  
“They’d had upheaval, that’s for sure,” he remembers.

“Jolimont has, too,” Claire reminds.  
Slowly, Huss bobs his head in confirmation.  
“Indeed,” he agrees.  
Their conversation comes to a natural pause, neither immediately sure to where it should continue.

“And,” Huss eventually speaks up, “if you would be willing, I will still require an assistant.”  
He looks Claire in the eye, to ensure that his offer is being communicated.  
“And, Claire,” Huss confirms, “I would be honoured if you would join me in my work in the Suburbs.”  
“Huss,” Claire replies, “I would be delighted, thank you.”

They briefly shake hands to solidify their agreement. Then, Huss laughs.  
“I was almost about to ask you to fetch Melinda,” he admits, “before I remembered that the services of Whisperers are no longer required.”  
Claire leans a little closer.  
“Perhaps I have no right to tell you this,” she confides, “but I would be disappointed if the Whisperers were abandoned now. They are not responsible for this and, what are they now, worthless?”  
“Claire,” Huss promises, “I will do my best. I agree. The Whisperers ought not be worthless.”

+

Under the shade of a palm tree, Steve lies on a sunlounge. Dani is similarly positioned on a second sunlounge, to his left. Steve looks up, peering between the leaves above. He’s gazing at slithers of bright sunlight, which would be blinding if there were too many of them. Fortunately, though, Steve’s being shielded from the worst of it, and he’s thankful for that. He listens only to the gentle waves lapping up against the shore, somewhere not too far away from his feet. Steve can’t see the ocean, especially given that he’s trying to examine the sky. He doesn’t need to be able to, to be able to imagine it. Steve only wishes that he could consider the future the same way. Just because he’s overjoyed, it doesn’t mean that he’s not also experiencing feelings of being daunted. Steve’s sensed that before – before before – and perhaps it’s just a by-product of added responsibility. In the meantime, he’s nursed Cameron and, while he cannot necessarily take credit, he knows that he’s better equipped than he’s ever been.


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as Lisa learns that a Whisperer has been called to Cliffs, she takes up the assignment. She knows that Neroli will be hot on her heels. Yet, after her confrontation with O’Keefe on the border, Lisa feels responsible for Cliffs. Besides, Alyssa’s due date is creeping ever closer, and she knows that she needs to have Mitchell returned before the birth. Lisa reaches O’Keefe on the border.  
“Sthalekar,” he greets her, “Warne didn’t summon a Whisperer.”  
Lisa raises her eyebrows.  
“It was me,” O’Keefe confesses.

“At least you’re honest,” Lisa remarks.  
O’Keefe steps closer to her, then moves back just as quickly.  
“Listen, Lisa,” he pleads.  
Yet, before O’Keefe can continue, her eyes pan up.

Warne is not a particularly tall man, yet his presence creates a shadow.  
“Ms. Sthalekar,” he addresses her, “what a pleasure it is for you to join us.”  
Lisa tries not to fear Warne, and maybe fails.  
“I take it that there’s a reason for your visit,” he presumes.

“Yes,” Lisa confirms. “There is.”  
Warne nods his head slowly.  
“I have a deal for you,” he offers. “Come back tomorrow, and I have some of my men and women to give you.”  
“I accept,” Lisa vows.

+

The following day, Lisa is standing with the water up to her ankles, playing his waiting game, despite what she has been promised. Mitchell is behind Warne, but cannot hide, because he towers over him.  
“Alright, Sthalekar,” Warne hisses, waving his hands around frantically. “You can have some of my men and women now.”  
Flooded with relief, Mitchell takes a step forward, to join Lisa. Yet, Warne’s arm firmly juts out, blocking his path.  
“But not Starc,” he insists.  
Warne looks Lisa right in the eye, and she doesn’t blink.

He brandishes one pointed finger towards her.  
“In fact, you can have all of these men.” Warne glances around, at the desperate faces of those with legs planted in the rocky surf. “Every one of these men, and even the women inside, can go free, if I can keep Starc.”  
Lisa continues to stare down Warne, her teeth gritted behind her lips.  
“Take the offer, Lisa,” Mitchell permits. “I will be alright. You can’t let this chance go to waste.”  
The thought of Alyssa’s teary expression rushes through Lisa’s mind. Nonetheless, she’s a Whisperer, so she’s pragmatic, and she’s learned how to deal with Warne.

“Thank you, Warne,” Lisa accepts. “Starc will stay with you. The rest of your men and women will come with me.”  
Wearing a smug grin, Warne steps forward, placing his toe down just in front of Lisa’s. She briefly flicks her eyes towards Mitchell, but she knows that he can’t run. Perhaps he’s got another plan, but Lisa’s also aware that Warne’s not a man who is going to be fooled.  
“We have a deal,” Warne vows, firmly shaking Lisa’s hand.  
“Indeed we do, Mr. Warne,” Lisa promises, looking him straight in the eye.

She keeps his hand in his for long enough to be polite and professional, then draws it back to her side. Lisa glances towards Stephen, the guard who has been watching over the transaction.  
“Mr. O’Keefe,” she addresses him, with more formality than guards are usually afforded, “do you have adequate knowledge of stocktake?”  
Lisa hates using those words, but she knows that she has to, when dealing with an agent of Warne.  
“I do,” Stephen confirms.  
“Good,” Lisa responds. “You will make sure that we don’t miss anybody.”

+

At Pat’s insistence, Bec accepts on Shaun’s behalf, that their home by the seaside becomes a temporary place of refuge for the people whom Lisa brings out of Cliffs. Freddie turns up to help, like he had originally planned. Mitch watches Pat, not wanting his boyfriend to be upset by the events of the day. With wide eyes, he examines each person as he is reunited with them. Sean and Harry must have been friends of Pat’s; they cling to each other like they’re fearful of separation again. Pat places his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and, with a nervous smile, pulls him close.  
“This is Mitch,” he introduces. “He rescued me and, um, we’re together.”

There’s a hint of surprise in Mitch’s grin. Finally, though, he beams at Pat’s affirmation of the love which he’s never wanted to impose.  
“Thank you,” Sean gushes and, for the meantime, that’s all he can say.  
Mitch lingers with Pat for a moment, before he has to leave for the kitchen. When lunch is served, Kate carefully feeds Alex, before lapping up her own soup. Mitch shudders, trying not to imagine how long it’s been since they’ve eaten a proper meal.

+

Chappelli doddles into Pup’s office, to alert him to the news from Cliffs. He tries to hide the chill which brushes over him, before the Whisperer excuses himself. Pup is a little bit grateful that he leaves without having to be asked to go away, because Ian Chappell is the last man that he wants to confide in. Usually, his habit of leaving the door open annoys Pup, but this time, he appreciates it.  
“Elyse,” he calls out, when she’s passing.  
She pauses, and steps into the doorway of Pup’s office.  
“Bring me Alastair Cook, please,” he requests.

Elyse bobs her head, then departs. Pup knows, without having to have confirmed with Chappelli. Warne is not that cruel a man – indeed, once they were close friends, before growing apart with geographical distance. Alastair’s jaw is clenched when he appears in Pup’s office.  
“Come in, Alastair,” he invites, “and, please, close the door.”  
Alastair accepts, then enters and follows the instruction.  
“Have a seat, please,” Pup offers.  
He’s more generous than usual, but he feels like he owes it. Besides, Pup’s trying to demonstrating the person he is, or at least wants to become.

“Do you know of Cliffs?” he asks, once Alastair is seated.  
“Yes,” Alastair confirms, appearing anxious.  
Pup leans forward slightly.  
“Most of the people of Cliffs have been freed,” he divulges.

Alastair’s lips slip open with shock.  
“Jimmy,” he murmurs, “my husband.”  
This time, it’s Pup’s turn to be surprised, as he raises his eyebrows.  
“I didn’t know that you were married to him,” he confesses.

“Newly married,” Alastair explains.  
He pinches the gold band he wears, which Pup hasn’t paid enough attention to notice before.  
“How did you know Jimmy?” Alastair wants to know.  
Pup’s body jolts to sit up straighter, as he holds his breath.

He passes a piece of paper across the desk. Pup’s about to hand it over, before he is convicted to tell the truth, and answer Alastair’s question.  
“I am the reason that Warne took him to Cliffs,” he reveals.  
Unsurprisingly, Alastair’s arms tense.  
“We were together, a long time ago,” Pup recalls. “Warne thought that he broke my heart and wanted to punish him, for me. Really, the opposite was true.”  
Alastair pauses, then nods his head slowly.  
“I knew some of that,” he admits, “but Jimmy didn’t tell me that you were you.”  
Pup breathes in, then hands over the address to the Marshes’ home.  
“I am sorry,” he insists, “and this is where Jimmy is now.”  
Alastair stands, then departs with the paper in his hand.

+

While walking back to Adam’s office, Ryan flicks through the reports from Ricky, of the people being brought out of Cliffs. He pauses at two of the names – Morne Morkel and Peter Siddle – because, unlike the rest, they were men whom he used to know. Weight uneven between his feet, Ryan turns around, rather than returning to Adam. It’s not something that he will bother him with; he’s got more work to do. Instead, Ryan goes to Huss. He knows that he’s briefly returned from the Suburbs, where he’s been working with Pup. When Ryan approaches the office, the door is closed. He knocks, then waits for Huss to answer.  
“Come in,” he eventually calls, so Ryan opens the door.

Sighting Ryan, Huss flashes a friendly grin.  
“Come in, Ryan,” he echoes.  
Ryan steps further inside. With the hand that doesn’t contain the papers, he closes the door again behind him.  
“How was the Suburbs?” Ryan queries.  
Huss lets out a laugh.  
“It’s good to be in Jolimont,” he confesses. “Well, it’s easier.”  
Ryan draws his eyebrows together.

“You’re not usually one to prefer things easier,” he admits.  
“Well, I’d like that to be true,” Huss affirms.  
He pauses and nods towards his visitor’s chair.  
“Take a seat, Ryan,” Huss invites.

He follows the instruction. Nonetheless, Ryan suspects that Huss is being cagey. While it’s perhaps uncharacteristic, he knows that the Suburbs is a different world, not necessarily a pleasant one.  
“I’ve been working close with Michael Clarke,” Huss explains.  
Ryan bobs his head.

“And now I’m developing,” Huss admits, but pauses for the right word, “feelings for Michael Clarke.”  
Ryan gulps.  
“Would now be a good time to tell you that I’m engaged to a Whisperer?” he queries.  
Huss blushes a little in surprise, then links his fingers and flashes a relieved grin.

“Yes,” he confirms. “Congratulations, Ryan.”  
“Thank you,” Ryan replies, then clears his throat and presents the papers to Huss. “This is why I came. Mr. Morkel and Mr. Siddle have been rescued. Their families are in the countryside and I would like if we could get them back there.”  
“Abolutely,” Huss promises.


	10. Chapter 10

Adam is sitting at his desk, finishing off the last of his work, before he’s due to meet Ricky at Mahela’s restaurant, for one of his finest crab dishes and good conversation. His best white shirt is even hanging up on the back of his door, ready to change once Ryan departs. Adam remains unstartled when the voice rings. He’s not expecting it, and he doesn’t recognise the number. Nonetheless, Adam answers, hoping that he will be able to deal with the matter promptly.  
“Gilchrist,” comes a hoarse voice down the line, before he can speak. “It’s Warne. You think you know everything, don’t you?”

His sinister laughter crackles over the line.  
“Guess what? You don’t,” Warne spits. “Your man Ponting, he’s known everything all along. Why do you think we gave you your own miserable perfect world? To get you away from us. Yet that Ponting--."  
He tuts.  
“Punter didn’t want to leave you,” Warne recalls. “He said that he was keeping an eye on you, but I saw straight through that. So, I let him go. I let him have you if he was stupid enough to want you. And now, you want him too. You’re being tortured by him, because you can’t have him, and Jolimont.”  
Speechless, Adam’s eyes are wide with mirror.  
“Well,” Warne continues, “just remember that we didn’t give you Jolimont because we liked you, in fact the opposite. Punter was different, though, but don’t think that he’s blameless. He’s the opposite, Gilchrist, but I know that he’s made you think otherwise.”

+

It takes Pup a while to notice that he’s finally crossed over the border to Jolimont, because the clouds follow him. It’s something that surprises him and troubles him in equal measure. Pup hopes that it won’t rain, because he hasn’t brought an umbrella with him. If it does, though, he fantasises that he’ll be afforded refuge in Jolimont, until the storm is over. There’s nobody to let Pup in when he reaches the building. He opens the door and steps inside, carefully closing it again behind him. Pup peers down the corridor, then pads across the carpet. Dread starts to pool in his gut. Pup will never find Huss’ office without assistance. Maybe, however, asking for help is exactly what he needs to start doing.

That’s why he’s here, after all.  
“Excuse me,” Pup mentions to a woman who is passing down the hallway in the opposite direction.  
She pauses, then smiles.  
“Mr. Michael Clarke,” she addresses him.

He likes being recognised, usually. In Jolimont, though, it makes Pup feel a little self-conscious, like he’s a fish out of water. The woman raises her shoulders, which doesn’t help his perceptions.  
“And you are?” Pup asks, then emits a soft sigh to himself. “Sorry. That was too forward. I’m trying to be less forward.”  
“Ms. Claire Koski,” she introduces, thrusting out her hand for Pup to shake.  
He does, and the handshake that Claire provides in return is firm.  
“Would I be able to ask for directions?” Pup requests.  
“Of course,” Claire permits. “Where are you heading?”  
“Michael Hussey’s office,” Pup supplies.   
Claire’s eyebrow raise instantly.  
“Ah, Huss,” she replies. “He’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

+

Adam and Ricky are both standing up, with his desk between them. He’s finally noticed that it’s a shield. It keeps Adam and Ricky apart from each other. This time, though, he doesn’t think that it will work.  
“Ricky,” Adam breathes, hoarsely.  
He steels himself.  
“I feel betrayed,” Adam admits.  
“You’re perfectly justified--,” Ricky reasons.  
“You lied to me,” Adam accuses.

Ricky nods his head, offering confirmation, and no excuses.  
“You stopped me from being able to help.” Adam’s despair is biting.  
“We all did,” Ricky adds.  
“I trusted you.” Adam’s eyes begin to well with tears.   
He begins to tremble, and Ricky watches. He doesn’t want to, but that’s why he has to.

+

Pup arrives at Huss’ office. The door is already open, held ajar by a small wedge of wood on the carpet, which surprises him in the first instance. It’s when Pup peers inside from the doorway that he notices that the shelves are half-empty. Fuelled by anxious adrenaline, he steps inside. Huss is standing with his back to Pup, carefully removing the books one by one. He seems not to have noticed Pup’s presence, until he glances over his shoulder and smiles.  
“Huss,” Pup speaks up, but soon his breath is taken away.  
He’s not sure whether it’s those blue eyes or the sense that the world around him is being packed away, but it’s probably both.

“Pup,” Huss replies.  
There’s something disarming about the nickname.  
“Are you moving somewhere?” Pup wants to know.  
“Maybe I am,” Huss admits.

He finally looks Pup in the eye.  
“Because I figured that you’re not going anywhere,” Huss notes.  
Pup finds himself smiling. He ambles forward, feeling his cheeks warm. There’s a similar redness which Huss’ complexion demonstrates, which makes him feel less self-conscious.

“Well,” Pup admits, gazing around at the office that’s already looking like it’s from an age that’s passed. “Now I don’t have any reason to.”  
Grinning, Huss places down the books that he’s holding. He steps out from behind the desk, so that there’s no obstacle left between him and Pup. As they embrace, Pup’s flooded with joy. He wouldn’t have recognised it beforehand, before Huss came into his life. Emboldened as they peck on the lips, in view of the open door, he decides to let him know. Pup shifts his body, so that he can rest his forehead against the side of Huss’ neck. He feels safe, with Huss’ arms wrapped around him in a circle, not letting go.

He breathes in slowly, the scent of the man. Pup loves Huss’ smell, even more so that he doesn’t have to bottle it up, just in case he doesn’t get to enjoy it again.  
“You know,” he confesses, with uncharacteristic honesty, “you are just an amazing person. I can’t do what I’m hoping I’m about to do in the Suburbs wouldn’t having had you.”  
Pup takes a deep breath, realising that his own past tense is inaccurate.  
“Without having you,” he corrects himself.  
Huss cradles Pup closer.  
“You are so kind to me,” he replies, humble as always. “Thank you, for that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Pup insists, and he means it.  
He moves his face, so that he can gaze adoringly at Huss. Pup’s neck is already starting to ache. They are not different enough in height for this position to be comfortable long-term.  
“Pup,” Huss speaks up, “there are clouds coming over. I think it’s going to rain.”

“It never rains in Jolimont,” Pup asserts.  
“Well,” Huss challenges, “I think that things are about to change. Things are changing all around us.”  
“That’s true,” Pup confirms.  
“Come on,” Huss encourages. “Let’s go back home before the rain sets in.”

Pup pulls back, so that he can look Huss in the eye.  
“Home?” he queries, drawing his eyebrows together.  
“Well,” Huss replies, moving his palms on Pup’s lower back, “I can offer you my dwelling.”  
“But I’m happier to let you share mine,” Pup allows.

“Thank you,” Huss responds, before they kiss.  
It’s when Pup’s fingers start creeping into Huss’ hair that he withdraws. His redden lips curve into a grin.  
“Time to go,” Pup echoes.  
Laughing at their luck, he and Huss stride from the office hand in hand. To them, it feels like the last day before holidays, like everyone’s gone mad from celebrating too hard and being about to leave. It’s only when Ricky storms past them, stony-faced, that their bubble is broken. Huss and Pup look at each other, both stagnant in the corridor, unsure what to do.

They step closer, after Ricky disappears. Huss and Pup stay silent, both knowing what there is no need to confess to the other. Warne tried, and Warne failed. He has Cliffs, but the landscape is no good to him without a population. Regaining one will take hard work, and plenty of compassion. Perhaps it’s possible, but not in the short-term, with good reason. It’s difficult for Huss and Pup to admit to what has transpired. There’s too much complicity, voluntary and involuntary, unknown and otherwise, for that to be simple. Yet, it’s a journey that they’ve began, and one that they will continue, together.

+

Again, Adam and Ricky are facing each other, in his office.  
“Adam,” Ricky begins, “I understand if you don’t forgive me.”  
“Of course I forgive you,” Adam mutters.   
They both look up at the same moment.

Adam and Ricky stare into each other’s eyes, both haunted by what has just been said. He steps forward, not holding back any longer. Adam cups Ricky’s face in his hands and kisses him passionately, as an angry cloud covers over the sun. He pulls the other man close to him, feeling their bodies press together. When they finally part, Adam’s lips hurt as he pants. Ricky, on the other hand, is breathless, eyes bulging.  
“I love you, Ricky,” Adam confesses.   
Ricky’s lips curve, like he’s glad, but not surprised to hear it.

“That’s the problem,” Adam insists.  
“Why?” Ricky challenges.  
Adam sighs.  
“I’m not allowed to love you,” he reminds. “I’m professional, I have to be better than that.”

Ricky raises his eyebrows.  
“You have to be better than me,” he responds.  
“No,” Adam counters. “That’s not what I meant.”  
His chest rises and falls with despair.

“We don’t have relationships like this in Jolimont,” Adam recites. “Huss restrains himself. Kat restrains himself.”  
Ricky cocks one incredulous eyebrow.  
“Therefore, I should too,” Adam insists. “It shouldn’t be hard, you--.”  
Adam blinks, recognising his own mistake.  
“I’m making it hard for myself,” he insists.  
Ricky scampers closer.  
“Adam, everything is changing,” he reminds. “Nothing’s going to be the same again. Maybe . . .”  
Ricky glances around the office, before returning his eyes to Adam.  
“Maybe realising that this place isn’t perfect after all,” he proposes, “is what’s going to finally set you free.”

Adam scratches the back of his neck with one pointed finger.   
“All I’ve ever tried to do is my best, Rick,” he laments, “and that’s not worked out so well so far.”  
“Perhaps,” Ricky suggested, eyes trailing down Adam’s neck, “now’s the time when that changes.”  
“I don’t know another way.” Adam is close to crying.

“Don’t change,” Ricky insists. “You’re the constant, and that’s what I love about you, too.”  
He finally looks Adam in the eye. Adam breathes in, taken aback by Ricky’s admission. He holds his gaze, to allow it to sink right in.  
“I’m sorry, Rick,” Adam finally apologises. “I must keep my duties to Jolimont.”  
He staggers back, falling into his chair.  
“Jolimont’s ending,” Ricky reminds. “I’m not going anywhere, though.”  
“Actually,” Adam counters, “I would like you to leave, please.”  
Ricky clenches his jaw, then nods his head.

He glances around the office once again.  
“Alright,” Ricky agrees, then breathes out audibly.  
Still, he doesn’t move. Finally, Adam pushes himself into a standing position again, in between his chair and his desk.  
“Please, Ricky,” he begs, legs already starting to tremble. “I don’t think that I could control myself again.”  
Adam knows that he doesn’t have to, but it’s hard to walk away from that so easily. Giving in would be a submission, even if it gives him what he wants.

Whether Adam will surrender that to acknowledge his betrayal remains an unanswered question. While he’s pondering that, lips pursed and eyes on the floor, Ricky suddenly leaves. The door bangs behind him, causing Adam to shudder. He’s close to crying, given that he knows that he’s already succumbed, by kissing Ricky, and crossed a line. Adam quivers, as the violence of the worsening weather outside, the trees fighting against a rush of gusty wind, which brings droplets of rain to clash against his window pane. Something has changed, that Adam cannot undo, and he’s not sure whether or not it’s for the better.

+

Alyssa walks down the hallway towards the door to Adam’s office. The folders she carries are resting against the side of her bulging belly. Alyssa looks up quickly, when she sees the door bursting open. Ricky steps out, slamming it again behind him. Briefly, Alyssa locks eyes with him. They say nothing, their expressions stern. Outside, a gust of wind picks up, as rain starts to patter against the window pane at the end of the corridor. Both Alyssa and Ricky’s glances dart towards it. While they are not looking at each other, they lips slip ajar. Jolimont’s seen nothing but a clear blue sky. Alyssa sucks in a breath, as she feels the first painful twist of a contraction.

The folders slip from her hands and onto the floor, as she grips her stomach. Alyssa gasps, her fingers splaying out over the fabric of her blouse. Ricky scurries towards her, placing an arm around her shoulders and shepherding her down the corridor.  
“You’ll be alright, Alyssa,” he vows, “and I’ll make sure--.”  
Ricky trails off, as her terrified eyes reach his. He goes quiet, not wanting to make a promise that he can’t keep. Certainty still has not been found.

+

Ryan returns to Adam’s office not long after Ricky has left. He’s still standing up between the chair and his desk. Adam’s eyes are on the window, as rain is starting to patter against the pane.  
“Adam,” Ryan speaks up, finally gaining his attention. “It’s started to rain.”  
Adam gulps.

“Yes,” he confirms, “yes, it has.”  
“Is there anything that needs to be done here, because of that?” Ryan wants to know.  
Adam shakes his head, chin raises a little.  
“No,” he confirms, sounding defeated. “There’s nothing that can be done.”

Ryan turns his eyes to the window pane. There’s the same smile on his lips which never leaves them.  
“It’s actually quite beautiful,” he praises.  
He cannot see it yet, so Adam does not respond.  
“Adam,” Ryan speaks up again, “if there’s nothing to be done here, I’d like to ask if I can go home, please. To my family.”

Adam pans his eyes around to Ryan, taken aback.  
“Of course, mate,” he permits, sighing to himself.  
Adam offers a smile, to reassure Ryan.  
“Thank you,” he replies, then turns for the door.

“Ryan,” Adam interjects.  
He looks over his shoulder, hovering in the doorway.  
“If I may ask, who’s your family?” Adam queries.  
Ryan narrows his eyes a little and glimpses towards the window.

“Sarah, the Whisperer with the blonde-haired daughter,” he notes. “I’ve asked her to marry me, and she’s accepted. We’re expecting a baby together.”  
Adam’s eyes widen.  
“Congratulations,” he wishes.  
“Thank you,” Ryan replies, and Adam recognises that, somehow, perfection is being bettered for everyone but him.

+

Lisa rushes through the torrential rain, reaching Stephen on the border.  
“Go,” he orders, his hand hovering over her back as he ushers her through.   
Lisa rushes into Cliffs.   
“It’s raining in Jolimont, too,” Warne states when she approaches him.

He already knows, which brings pause to Lisa.   
“Yes,” she confirms under her breath, needlessly.  
Lisa stares at Warne, until Mitchell steps into view.  
“It’s raining in Jolimont, too,” she echoes as a reminder, “so he can come with me now.”

Lisa doesn’t look at Mitchell just yet. Warne clenches his jaw and surveys his surroundings, like he’s still making up his mind.  
“Warne!” Lisa pleads, as she’s drenched. “Starc is coming with me.”  
All of a sudden, Warne grins. He turns to Mitchell and claps his hand against his shoulder.  
“Go,” Warne permits.  
Lisa breathes out, as Mitchell beams. He doesn’t bid farewell.  
“Thank you,” Mitchell mutters, then runs away from Cliffs by Lisa’s side.

She reaches out to him.   
“Take my hand,” Lisa instructs, threading her fingers with his. “We’re going to go through.”  
Mitchell bobs his head, gripping Lisa’s hand so tightly that his knuckles turn white.  
“Alyssa?” he questions.

Lisa nods, but keeps running through the rain.  
“She’s safe, for now,” she reveals, “but she’s gone into labour, in Jolimont. Dr. Haynes is with her, and I’ll take you to her now. You can stay in Jolimont, you’ll be able to live there.”  
Mitchell’s expression briefly lights up.

Lisa peers through the pouring rain, searching for Stephen.  
“What took you so long?” he asks, yelling over the downpour.  
“Are you kidding me?” Lisa quips in response. “That was record time with Warne.”  
Stephen grins.  
“Are you ready?” Lisa asks Mitchell, not that she needs a reply. “We’re going through.”  
He breathes in, leaving Cliffs for good, as Stephen ushers them through, although the weather is unchanged upon reaching Jolimont.

+

The offices are dimmer than usual, given that the clouds have closed in. Head bowed, Adam walks down the steps, his footsteps thudding against the concrete. He moves his feet onto the landing at the base of the stairwell. Eyes still pointed close to the floor, Adam reaches out towards the handle, fingers hovering. He emits a soft sigh, then gives in. Adam opens the door and slips through into the cellar of the building. He’s not been there before, yet he still knows what he might find lurking underground. Perhaps Adam’s hoping for it, which he’s never done before. He closes the door again behind him, in the hope that no-one will find him down here.

Adam wants to think that he doesn’t even want Ricky to know, but that’s not really true. He craves to see him again, to be able to give in, in a manner that’s not furious and forbidden. Adam breathes in heavily, turning his eyes towards the window and the half-opened blinds, just peering out over the line of the earth. The rain is intensifying. When Adam starts to sob, he won’t even hear himself. He sways, crashing into the blinds and resting against them. Adam can’t hold himself up any longer. It’s not that Jolimont has lost its perfection, it’s that it never really existed, after all. Gasping for breath, Adam sniffles, to suppress his tears.

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Adam focuses, looking around the darkened room. He spots a small refrigerator, with papers heaped on top of it. Adam peers at it a little, then pushes himself up so that he’s standing on his own, the blinds clattering against the window pane. He pads over through the shadows, then rests his hand atop the papers. Adam hunches over, cupping his other fingers in the handle. He pulls open the fridge door, applying a little force to break the seal. Adam leans in, to check that it’s humming over the roar of the rain, but that’s confirmed regardless, when he places his hand inside. The air is colder than he’s ever felt, sending a chill over his body.

Adam reaches further inside, hand trembling a little as he slips it between shelves. He grabs the necks of two chilled bottles of beer, fetching them from the fridge before pushing the door with his knee. Adam’s forced to nudge it again. The second time, that’s when it shuts properly. Maybe that’s all it takes, another try. Adam stands up straight and grits his teeth, through which he breathes. Briefly, he touches one bottle to his cheek. Adam’s skin is dampened by the condensation. He shudders, then lowers the glass, so that his hand hangs by his side. Adam turns around, heading back for the door. At least he knows what he’s looking for now, and even where he might find him.

+

Alyssa’s skin is clammy, blonde hair surrounding her head pressed back into the pillow. Her fingers are threaded with Ellyse’s, Dr. Haynes silently keeping watch. Neither woman will meet each other’s eyes. Inside the room is quiet save for Alyssa’s grunts, squeezing Ellyse’s hand tighter with every contraction. Outside, however, thunder rumbles with angry intent, flashes of lightning immediately and dazzling. Rain batters against the window pane, half-shaded by a blind. Therefore, it’s not until the door bursts open, Lisa busting in with Mitchell rushing after her, that Alyssa gasps. They’ve made it, he’s made it, to Jolimont, just in time.

Scarred legs unable to carry him any further, Mitchell falls into place beside the bed. He runs his hand over Alyssa’s forehead, expression twisted with concern. She tries to smile, yet catches her breath. Mitchell grips Alyssa’s other hand, in response to Dr. Haynes’ urgent instruction. All is expectant, the storm and labour furious. Usually, Lisa would depart. She’s a Whisperer, after all. Yet, there’s no mandate now for Lisa to leave. Besides, she feels a calling to see through her mission, to make sure that the child, representative of all that has changed around them, is safely delivered. Lisa trusts Dr. Haynes, but she knows that she’s just as human as the rest of them.

Then, Alyssa’s screams give way to the crackle of a newborn cry. The thunderstorm weakens, to the gentle patter of rain against the roof, as the clouds outside begin to brighten. Dr. Haynes passes the child onto her mother’s chest. Mitchell gulps, tears welling as his chest tightens with love.  
“Congratulations,” she wishes. “You have a daughter.”  
Dr. Haynes allows herself a moment, to smile at Alyssa and Mitchell with their baby. She marvels at the miracle of new life, brimming with hope and unblinkered. Although her arms are still weak, Alyssa shifts them, hands slipping from Mitchell’s and Ellyse’s. She cradles her baby girl. Holding back sobs, Mitchell brushes his hand across Alyssa’s forehead. He kisses her temple, arms around her torso. Mitchell is safe. Not only as he been spared from Cliffs, he has his family, just as he dreamed of when the waters were circling up to his neck. What has been broken has been repaired. Beaming, Alyssa looks between Mitchell and their baby daughter, with a tuft of dark hair and clear blue eyes.

+

By the early evening, the rain has cleared, exposing a pale blue sky. Adam finds Ricky on a grandstand seat, gazing out over the damp turf. He climbs the stairs until he’s just one row down, then waits, hoping to gain his attention. When Ricky does pan his eyes around, Adam takes another step. He holds out one of the chilled bottles of beer he’s carrying in his left hand, pointing it in Ricky’s direction.  
“Want a drink?” Adam offers.  
A smile comes onto Ricky’s lips.

He glances at Adam, then the bottle.  
“Yes,” Ricky agrees, accepting it. “Thank you.”  
Adam threads himself across the concrete. He takes the seat beside Ricky, their knees not touching.  
“Alyssa’s had the baby,” Adam announces.

Ricky’s eyes widen, stopping with his fingers curled around the neck of the bottle.  
“Yeah?” he responds hopefully and Adam nods his head.  
“Alyssa’s well, the baby’s well, Mitch is well,” he confirms.   
Adam removes the cap from his bottle.

“A little girl,” he adds. “Clementine Hope.”  
Adam turns to Ricky, to accept the top from his beer.  
“Alyssa’s going to call her Clem for short, I think,” he notes.  
Ricky is grinning with satisfaction, even if peace hasn’t yet reached him.

“You were right, Ricky,” Adam praises, after taking a sip.  
“And you were good,” Ricky replies, “so I guess we’re even.”  
A little breathless, Adam lowers the bottle – still in his hand, resting it against his leg. Together, he and Ricky stare out across the ground.  
“Do you reckon you’ll stay?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.  
Adam and Ricky move to look at each other in the same moment.  
“Wherever you are, wherever you go, that’s where I want to be,” Adam vows.  
He breathes in, wrinkling his nose to stop his eyes from welling.

“If you’ll have me,” Adam adds.  
Ricky’s sigh gives way to a smile.  
“If you’ll have me,” he echoes.  
Adam can finally breathe out, as Ricky’s arm is placed around him. They relax into their embrace. Adam presses a kiss to Ricky’s forehead, to remind him that his perfect world has to be theirs together, under the summer sky.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. In case you’re wondering:  
> Jolimont = wicketkeepers  
> Suburbs = batters  
> Cliffs = bowlers  
> Seasiders = all-rounders  
> Whisperers = commentators/journalists  
> Countryside = vegetarian/vegan cricketers  
> Guards = controversial cricketers  
> Of course, I then made a lot of exceptions based on wanting certain cricketers in certain places for the sake of the plot (mainly non-wicketkeepers in Jolimont).
> 
> 2\. Also, nobody is dead (that is a diversion from the television series which inspired the prompt). I have diverted quite a bit from the literal reading of the prompt, admittedly.
> 
> 3\. The timeline is indeed all over the place. I.e. Harley Guptill’s birth (September 2017) occurs two months before the Chris Gayle incident (January 2016) in this fic world. Generally, I have chosen to prioritise analysis over accuracy.
> 
> 4\. I am aware that Catholic priests aren’t allowed to be married - this is an AU, after all. It’s also worth noting that Father Hayden (Matthew Hayden) would not have been considered married by the people in the Suburbs - given that those in Jolimont (and other places) were either not remembered or presumed dead.
> 
> 5\. I will admit that there are probably inaccurate medical details in the kidney transplant and infertility storylines. I didn’t do a great deal of medical research, so I apologise unreservedly if there is anything that should be written differently and I’m open to hearing it.
> 
> 6\. This story has been an excellent outlet for expressing all of the bizarre dreams that I’ve had about cricketers. Yes, that’s where Justin Langer being Cameron Bancroft’s father came from. The imaginative aspect of writing this story has been thoroughly enjoyable.
> 
> 7\. In terms of which character is which cricketer, in most cases, the character tags will be useful. I had to be a bit creative with the names/nicknames to avoid double-ups and for some - Huss, Kat, Pup, for instance - I intentionally chose nicknames so that they would match.


End file.
